


Of Scars and Wooden Animals

by FeedItToTheFish



Series: Of Scars and Wooden Animals [1]
Category: God of War, God of War (2018) - Fandom, God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Cancer treatment, Cancer/Chemotherapy symptoms, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Loose descriptions of consensual sexual activity, Self-Harm, Suicide, Take a shot every time Atreus vomits, Trigger warnings:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeedItToTheFish/pseuds/FeedItToTheFish
Summary: “I have T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia,” Atreus recites. He bites his tongue and Mimir’s inky lips press into a thin line. “I’m in Maintenance though, so I don’t think I’m dying.” He adds positively. He does think he’s dying, but figures that’s probably too heavy to reveal to someone you’ve just met.Modern Alternate Universe. Kratos is an architect, Faye is an interior decorator. When Faye dies suddenly of a relapse, Kratos is left to raise their sick child, who he is an almost stranger to. This is a story of scars and wooden animals.





	1. Hospital

Her hands are cold and still as he holds them desperately, his thumbs tracing every knuckle, every crease. The fluorescent lights above them illuminate her pale skin and Kratos can see every vein and bruise with clarity. She leans into him, her dry, copper hair nudging into a bearded cheek. She whispers into his neck through wet lips and stifled sobs and Kratos listens as best as he can. His arms wrap around her body as delicately as his huge mass allows. He holds her steadily. The familiar beeping next to them fills the room.

“I will try,” Is his response, the words escaping his throat through a low, wobbly rumble.

“No,” Faye uses the last of her strength to take her husband’s head in her hands, cords and tubes hanging from her frail arms. She careses his cheekbones and meets his eyes. She watches as the tears Kratos had been holding back begin trickle down his face. “You must do more than try.” Her words are raspy and desperate. She wipes a tear from her husband’s cheek tenderly with a cold thumb.

“I do not know how,” Kratos chokes, for he does not. “I do not know how to do this without you.”

“You are a strong man, my love, in many ways. Believe in yourself.” Faye’s last words are a plea, and Kratos rocks her gently as she closes her eyes for the last time.

A few floors beneath them, a small bundle lays on his side with knees to his chest. He holds the rails of his bed in one hand, a small wooden horse in the other. He weeps.

—

“Ah, Faye! Salutations!”

A chorus of warm smiles and greetings welcome her as she walks through the lobby, black pointed boots clicking confidently on the smooth, grey tiles beneath her. Olive culottes swish around her tattooed calves.

“Oh, Sindri, it’s great to be home!” She coos, approaching a small, bearded man. He is donning pale blue suit, his dark hair pulled away from his face in a short ponytail. She holds her arms out invitingly and the man laughs sheepishly, darting out of her way. Faye chuckes.

“You enjoyed your time away I trust?” The pair walk side by side towards the elevator and Faye presses the up button.

“Oh it was wonderful, Sydney was everything I had dreamed of and I truly believe that Melbourne was made for me. So much art! So much furniture! So many ideas!” She does a twirl and her thick, red ponytail swishes against her lower back. Sindri beams. “I have brought back so much inspiration and have started on so many new designs already! You’ll be so impressed.” The elevator dings and they step in. Inside is a blue skinned man in dusty black overalls and muddy yellow construction boots. He’s a bit smaller than Sindri in height but a little more broad. His beard isn’t quite as well kept as Sindri’s. His face lights up as they step in.

“Sacred cow bosoms! You’re fuckin’ back!”

“It appears I am!” Faye laughs and leans an elbow into the blue man’s shoulder, and with pats him on his bald head with her free hand. “It is good to see you, Brok.”

They reach the top floor and Sindri gasps, pointing at Brok’s feet. “You are not wearing those awful things inside again!” His face is white with disbelief and Brok groans as they step out of the elevator.

To their left is a spacious lounge with massive glass windows in place of walls, overlooking the city below them. A polished, geometric sculpture hangs from the high ceiling and modern furnishings accent the space around them. Ahead is a hall that is lined with glistening glass offices. To their right are two more similar offices and a reception. Big letters on the front of the counter read, “Huldra Incorporated”.

“I would wear bleedin’ chicken carcasses on my hoofs if it so pleases me! So don’t go givin’ me any ideas!” Brok grumbles, throwing his arms up as he takes off into the lounge, making a point to scuff his grubby shoes against the tiles. Faye smirks behind an embellished hand and Sindri gags.

“He’ll clean up, I’ll make him,” Faye soothes. Sindri escorts her down the hall and they stop when they reach her office.

“It is good to have you back, I’ve missed you dearly.” Sindri confesses. Faye would have pecked him on the forehead if he hadn’t been such a germaphobe. “Meeting is at 11 in confrence room 31, we’re looking forward to seeing some of your ideas.”

Faye sighs happily as she pushes her door open with a hip and gestures goodbye to her friend. She walks around to the front of her desk and slumps into her white, leather desk chair. She gently swings her tote bag onto the floor besides her and happily notes that someone had been watering her plants for her. She had only been overseas for a few short months but it had felt like a life time. It was good to be back.

—

Atreus’ eyes drowsily flutter open. His whole body aches and he is covered in a sticky layer of sweat. He gathers his senses and feels a wet rag wiping at his neck and face, and is suddenly is overcome by the strong smell of vomit. He must’ve fallen asleep in is own sick again, he realises, but is in too much pain to care.

His small hands feel around for the remote, letting out a soft cry as as the bed sits him up. He rubs at his tender chest and wheezes, groggily looking around the room. A nurse finishes cleaning him up, taking his temperature before leaving.

His father sits on a chair next to him, face buried in his large hands.

Atreus has to gather his strength before quietly asking,

“Is she...?”

Kratos looks up. Face sunken, eyes red, hands shaking. He manages to make eye contact for a moment before his face finds his hands once more.

Atreus begins to vomit again, on the floor this time, and Kratos leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! 
> 
> This story is going to be about dealing with loss and terminal illness, and is something I am writing to hopefully bring awareness to this small community about childhood leukaemia. It’s going to be pretty angsty, as I’m not planning on sugarcoating anything. But there are going to be some lighthearted moments too.
> 
> The first chapter is only short to test the waters, as I haven’t written anything in well over five years! :P Please forgive my rustiness! Future chapters will be twice as long at least, and I currently have 10-15 planned out. The next two/three will be posted shortly as they’re already completed.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!


	2. Chemo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus is exhausted from his treatment.
> 
> Faye is curious about the man in the office opposite hers.

The hospital is busy. Patients are pushed in all directions in their beds and wheelchairs. Doctors and nurses rush frantically to their destinations, the halls resembling a bee hive with their organised chaos. Kratos ushers his son through the crowds and the boy holds onto his father’s finger with a small, limp hand. He is still in his pyjamas; a pair of grey sweat pants, a matching button down top and two, soft ugg boots. He had put up a fight about dressing that morning and Kratos was not going to argue, not today.

Close behind them in a whirlwind of colour is Faye, arms filled with pillows, blankets, books and games. She darts through the maze of bodies, cautious not to drop anything. The trio take a sharp left into a contrastingly quiet passage, and then another left into a waiting room. Kratos gestures for Atreus to take a seat while he goes to the counter to sign them in. Atreus curls up on an armchair and Faye pulls up a stool next to him and runs her nimble fingers through his hair, small tufts falling out at her touch. He is feverish. Atreus squirms and turns his body away from her, averting her concerned gaze. Head leaned back, he shuts his eyes. Maybe he can sleep through it today.

Faye sighs as Kratos approaches. He rests a tired hand on her shoulder. It rubs down her neck and a short way down the back of her yellow scarf and orange knitted poncho, massaging her lightly. They look at their son. They can feel him deflate more and more with every visit. Replacing what once was an energetic young boy is a demenor that resembles an old, frail man. He has lost the sparkle in his eyes and the parents are overwhelmed with despair.

They are called in. Atreus shakily stands and follows the doctor into another room, determined to walk on his own. His parents are only careful steps behind.

With great effort and trembling limbs, he heaves himself onto a large recliner, the last in a row of about 10. His parents drag a pair of small plastic chairs closer to him and take a seat. Atreus rolls up his sleeve, revealing a frail, tattooed arm. He looks out of the window above him and zones out. He used to be so scared of needles, but he doesn’t even blink now as the doctor takes his blood.

It isn’t long before they are given the go-ahead. Atreus gulps down a familiar series of pills and Faye tries her best to make him comfortable. She wraps him in cosy blankets and gently leans him forward as she places a pillow behind his shoulders.

Sometimes the high dosage makes him feel a bit loopy and he will play board games with his mother, or chat to whoever is in the recliner next to him. Today the tablets have only added to his drowsiness.

Small fingers instinctively undo the first few buttons of his pyjama top. He pulls the cloth downwards, exposing a small lump below his collarbone where his port-a-cath has been inserted. Atreus has been receiving chemotherapy every three weeks for the last year and a half. His parents are encouraged when his cycle is reduced to once a month and tell their son that he must be recovering. Atreus is cynical, however. He is only feeling worse.

Atreus keeps still as the doctor’s experienced hands disinfect his skin and hook up a tube to the port in his chest. On a good week, he is happy to have a chat with his doctors during his treatment. Dr Hati would enthusiastically comment on whatever book she saw him reading and Atreus would cheerfully engage. Dr Skoll didn’t do a lot of reading, so he mostly just talked about the weather. Atreus likes them both equally and usually makes an effort to communicate with them.

This week is not one of those weeks. Atreus is two hours into his session but hasn’t uttered a word. His eyes are heavy, still glued to the window in a miserable trance. Any questions or comments from his doctors are ignored, or perhaps he doesn’t even hear them.

Kratos carefully nudges a small container of chopped up fruit towards his son. Not only had the child refused to dress that morning, he had also refused to eat. Atreus catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. What’s left of his eyebrows furrow as he looks towards the container. He shakes his head. Kratos grunts. Faye hums.

“Please, Atreus, we know you don’t feel hungry but your body needs nutrients.” She prompts.

“My mouth hurts.” A small mumble.

“Have some banana, it is soft.” Is Kratos’ counter.

“I feel nautious.”

They release a small breath of defeat. They know their son is being truthful but worry about how thin he is becoming. They will try again soon. Kratos clips the lid back onto the container and passes it to Faye who slides it into her tote bag. She takes out a small block of birch and a wrap of tools. She begins to carve.

Kratos leans forward and reaches below the blankets that cover his son. He tugs at the small ugg boots, gently removing them. Toes wiggle at the exposure to cool air. His feet are tiny, and fit into his father’s hands as easily as they did when he was an infant. Kratos begins to rub them, knowing that Atreus often loses feeling in them from lack of use, but doesn’t like to bother his parents about it. Large hands give bruised ankles a soft squeeze before traveling upwards to his calves. He kneeds them tenderly. The small hairs here have long since fallen out, leaving his legs cold and bare.

A groan escapes Atreus’ mouth. At this point the drugs being pumped into his body have become too much and he gives into unconsciousness.

—

Blue eyes peek over the the smooth, silver monitor on her desk, ringed fingers tapping on either side of her graphics tablet. There is man with huge muscles and a smooth, shaved head in the cubicle opposite her. The angry looking eyebrows and thick black beard had startled her at first glance, but now she can’t stop stealing looks. He wears a black button down top and a black, silk tie. She notices his fitted, tan dress pants under his desk and catches herself peering between his legs. He looks up from his computer and Faye quickly hides behind hers, her face hot.

She reaches into the bag at her feet for her phone and opens up her contacts, still concealing herself. She presses Sindri’s name and places the device to her ear. It rings four times before her door opens, phone buzzing in Sindri’s hand.

“What can I do for you Faye?” He asks cheerily, walking around the side of her desk. A conversation with Faye to break up the long hours is always welcome. Faye panics and grabs her friend’s hand, pulling him behind the monitor with her. Sindri ducks down and panics too. He quickly reaches for the hand sanitiser on her desk, rubbing in multiple pumps before turning to the woman next to him. “What’s wrong, what has happened?” He is whispering, but isn’t sure why.

“Who is that man?” Faye whispers back. Sindri stands up.

“Oh! That’s Kratos! He’s our new-“ Faye’s shushing cuts him off. He lowers his voice again, but doesn’t bother crouching. “He’s our new lead architect. We sourced him all the way from Greece. He’s the best money can buy!” Faye straightens up and relaxes slightly, a little embarrassed.

“The best? Is that so?” She is impressed but also doubtful. Many architects had worked for the famous Huldra Brothers over the years, none of which had come close to ‘the best’.

“You’ll just have to find out at the meeting. He definitely is the best. You’ll be working very closely with him in the coming years, Brok and I have big plans!” Sindri gushes.

Faye saves the design she’s been working onto her iCloud Drive, checking that all the files she wants to present are coming up on her iPad. It’s nearly 11 O’clock and she suddenly feels like she isn’t as prepared as she wants to be. She sees the muscular man stand up from his desk and she notices how large he really is. A red tattoo garnishes his face, snaking up from his left eye, over his head and down his neck. She slouches down in her chair and covers herself with her monitor, this time subconsciously, as he leaves his office and turns down the hall towards the elevators.

“Hm.” Faye guesses he must be pretty good to have deserved a cubicle on the top floor. All of the lead architects she has worked with previously had worked many levels beneath her.

—

Another month, another session of Chemo. Atreus is carried through the busy corridor in large, pale arms, in and out of consciousness. Faye is at home today, she is feeling unwell and Kratos had insisted that she rests. She was up all night with Atreus who was awake with a dreadful cough, and the boy can only hope that she isn’t sick because of him.

They make their usual turn left, and left again to the waiting room. Kratos bypasses the reception and briskly makes his way straight into the chemotherapy room, the bundle in his arms wheezing violently.

“What’s wrong?” Doctor Hati asks. She has seen Atreus at rock bottom many times but is shocked at the sight before her. Kratos is approached by Doctor Skoll aswell.

“He’s been like this since 1am” Kratos manages, pacing in anguish.

“And you didn’t think to bring him to hospital sooner?” Skoll asks in disbelief. Kratos pushes past the pair and lays his son on his regular seat. Atreus is barely awake but rolls up his sleeve and hoists his shirt up to his neck like clockwork. He gags and collapses over the arm of the chair in a coughing fit, his whole body heaving. Kratos crouches at his side, hands on trembling shoulers. He looks to the doctors, desperately.

 

Atreus wakes up hours later in intensive care. His face is covered with some sort of breathing mask and he can see his father through the window, talking to his doctors. A wave of nausea overcomes him and he frantically pushes the mask up off his mouth as he rolls over, releasing a gush of vomit onto the bed. Skoll sees him through the window and rushes in, Hati follows. Father stays outside.

Another coughing fit is triggered and Skoll begins to clean up as Hati soothes the boy, rubbing his back. Atreus’ chest feels hot and cold at the same time, his insides feel grazed as he struggles to breath. He grabs at the tissue box next to him and hacks up a large portion of dark green phlegm.

“Am I dying?” He gasps finally, his body damp and tears staining his cheeks. His vision is blurry.

“You have a serious case of bacterial pneumonia, Atreus.” Skoll anwers the question indirectly.

Atreus doesn’t know what pneumonia is but from the doctor’s voice it doesn’t sound good. He realises that the adults are both wearing goggles, masks and gloves. He glances up at the window again and his father is gone.

Hati leaves. Skoll bathes Atreus and helps him into a fresh hospital gown before leaving, too. The room is dark and he is alone.

A doctor he doesn’t know comes in hours later to set him up for the Chemotherapy he had missed out on. Blood test. Pills. Tubes. Atreus knows this routine well but it’s the first time he has had chemo alone and he is overwhelmed by anxiety. He steadies his breathing as best as he can, save for a few splutters, and braces himself for the hours of therapy in solitude.

 

Three days have passed without a visit from his parents and Atreus thinks they’ve given up on him. He notices that his fingernails have started to fall off. He sighs.

He plays with an empty vomit bag, tracing a brittle finger around the rim. Despite what his parents told him, he had long since accepted the fact that he was always going to be sick. But sometimes, when he is alone, the thoughts of one day being able to do the little things again bring him comfort. Going to school. Going grocery shopping. Playing in the rain. Simple, yet near impossible.

He hears the door open and he sets the little bag aside.

Hati enters his room with a grim look on her face. She places a small wooden horse on the table beside Atreus’ bed and his heart skips a beat. The doctor sits down next to him and takes his hands in hers. Atreus coughs into his shoulder.

“Your mother became very sick, Atreus,” she pauses. She thinks carefully about her next words. “She had a relapse and has been in hospital, too. She said to say goodbye.”

Atreus’ vision goes red and his body feels like it’s been engulfed by flames. Everything is in slow motion and he doesn’t mean to, but he is screaming. The room darkens and six words echo in his mind as he blacks out.

_It should’ve been him, not you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooohh Faye. I love her. 
> 
> I wanted her to die at the start of this fic to reflect the game, but love her too much to not keep writing her :P In my head she is a boho chic designer who don’t take shit, and gets shit done. But is also a giggly school girl with Sindri :P
> 
> Also I hope the formatting of this (and future) chapter isn’t too confusing? There are gonna be three time frames: present with Kratos and Atreus, past with Kratos and Faye in their early days, and past with all three in the years/months leading to Faye’s death. I aim to set the scene within the first paragraph so it’s easy to tell what time frame it is, but I’m super sloppy so please let me know if it doesn’t make sense!
> 
> Happy reading!


	3. Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kratos explains himself.
> 
> Faye takes Atreus to his first day of chemotherapy.

The snow has started to melt, puddles freckle the road beneath them. Tyres crackle lightly at the contact with the asphalt, trees pass by their windows in a blur.

Atreus is slumped in the seat behind his father, arm sandwiched between himself and the window. His finger traces absentmindly along his forehead, up into his hairline. He was never one to care for appearances, but he can’t help feeling uneasy about the recent changes his body had made.

The pale skin, the dark circles under his eyes, the sunken cheeks. His usually thin limbs were even thinner. He hadn’t fussed when small hairs on his arms and legs began to disappear, but the hairs on his head were on their way out too and all of a sudden his situation felt very real.

His cough lingers. The worst of it has passed and the doctors have given Kratos permission to bring him home. A dull nausea remains from his recent treatment, but this is standard.

They pull into their driveway and sit in uncomfortable silence. They haven’t spoken a word since the hopsital and the tension between them is volcanic. Kratos meets his son’s eyes though the rear-view mirror and sighs.

Atreus hopes his father is going to apologize, comfort him, something, anything. He doesn’t.

Atreus erupts.

“You left me! I couldn’t breathe, I thought my lungs were falling apart! I had to go through chemo on my own!” His voice cracks. He begins to sob. “I was alone for weeks,” He feels like he is being selfish. He feels like he deserves to be.

“Your mother was dying.”

“So was I!”

Atreus’ voice shakes the vehicle. He wipes his eyes on his arm. He feels for his wooden horse in his pocket and his fingers tighten around it. “I didn’t get to say goodbye,”

Kratos gets out of the car and opens his son’s door. He bends down on one knee and undoes his seatbelt, swinging the small boy around. Atreus suddenly feels very weak and slumps forward, leaning his head into his father’s chest. Kratos holds him.

“Mother died and I couldn’t be there for her.”

“You can not blame yourself, boy. Your sickness is not your doing.”

Atreus slides out of the car, glassy eyes making contact with his father’s. “That’s true.” He pauses. “You could have been there for me, though.” Kratos lets go of his son and stands. They walk silently along the pebbled driveway.

Their house is big, and very modern. The design is an intricate collection of clean white corners and mirrored windows- a fine reflection of Kratos’ work. Kratos unlocks the front door and Atreus pushes past him, retreating upstairs to his room.

Kratos doesn’t see him for the rest of the day.

 

It is early the next morning when Atreus hears a knock at his door. He stretches out his little body, a series of cracks filling the silence. He had fallen asleep in his clothes from the previous day and his shoes feel tight on his feet.

The morning sun filters through the window, bathing his room in a soft glow. Small particles of light swim through the air like tiny fish. Atreus yawns.

In bed next to him is a copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, a gift from his Mother. The book is almost as big as he is. Fragile fingers dog-ear the page he is up to before setting the mass of ink and paper on the floor next to his bed. He straightens out his blankets and organises his pillows. Mother had always told him it was good luck to start off the day with a freshly made bed.

Atreus takes his wooden horse from his pocket and tenderly holds its nose to his forehead. He strokes his thumbs along the fine grain. It hadn’t left his person since that night in the hospital, and he felt fiercely protective of it. He gives it a quick peck between the ears and places it on the windowsill, adding it to his treasured collection of wooden animals.

A red marker finds its way into Atreus’ hand and he crosses the weeks he had spent in the hospital off his calendar. He flicks through the pages. Four months to go until his last day of treatment. He is half way between sessions and his stomach sinks when he realises that he will no longer have his mother to keep him company during the long, delirious hours. Will he have to go alone again? Father has only gone a few times, he won’t want to take more time off work. Atreus puts the pen down.

He opens the door.

Kratos stands in the hall, as colossal as always. Atreus has always felt insignificant around his father. Physically, he only comes up to his waist. Emotionally, there is a distance between them that Faye had once tried her best to fill. Kratos wasn’t a cruel father, but he also wasn’t very encouraging or affectionate. He had missed parent-teacher meetings, sports carnivals, birthdays. Atreus thinks it could be because he is ashamed of him, he thinks it’s because he is weak. He hopes that one day he will be more like his father, and maybe then they could get along.

“May I come in?” His voice is smooth, and low like thunder. He wears black, leather shoes, black pants, a black button down and a black tie. His large hands hold a glass of water, a box of pills and a packet of cookies. Atreus gives a shy nod and walks back into his room. He heaves himself onto his computer chair, making an effort to not seem out of breath. Kratos takes a seat opposite him on the bed. It sinks in dramatically under his weight.

“I had wanted to visit you,”

Kratos presses a pill out of its casing and Atreus puts out a hand for it. He pops into his mouth and takes the water from his father, downing the whole glass. The cool fluid trickles through his insides. His father nudges a cookie towards him. Munching unenthusiasticly, Atreus isn’t hungry but knows it’s important to eat something when taking his antibiotics. He puts the empty glass on his desk and dusts his hands against his thighs, ridding his fingers of any crumbs.

“You were very ill. I was allowed only moments with you, if that is of any comfort.”

“I understand. Mother needed you more.”

“Atreus,” Kratos reaches out a hand and rests it on his son’s knee. His grip is firm. “I would have been with you both if I were able. There were only few times that I came to you where I wasn’t turned away.”

Atreus looks down to his dangling feet, nudging one foot behind the other. It was as close to an apology as he was going to get from his father. He looks back up and nods, lips forcing a smile.

Kratos stands and picks up the empty glass from the desk. He leaves the cookies. “It is time for you to get ready.” He says on his way out.

—

They had only been sitting in the waiting room for few minutes when Atreus’ name is called. He follows his mother cautiously as the nurse leads them into a room that he realises he’s going to get to know very well over the next two years. They are instructed to take a seat and Atreus picks the one at the end, closest to the window. There are lots of people in here, sickly looking and hooked up to bags of liquid hanging from metal poles. He gets comfortable and takes in the faces surrounding him. They must be cold, he muses, a lot of them are wearing beanies. He notices that he is the youngest here.

“Ah, Atreus?” He looks up and smiles at the doctor in front of him.

“Yes, that’s me!”

“It’s nice to meet you Atreus, my name is Doctor Skoll and I’ll be looking after you today.” The doctor reaches out a hand and Atreus shakes it enthusiastically, then turns to Faye with a smile. “We’re just going to take a quick sample to check his white and red blood cell count. Then we’ll pop him on a dose of diphenhydramine and omeprazole to ease him into the heavy stuff.” He turns to Atreus who is tilting his head at the big words. “Tablets to help with the side effects.” He clarifies. He steps aside for a moment to have a quick word with a nearby nurse. Atreus looks to his mother, flabbergasted.

“Side effects? What are the side effects?” He knew he would be spending some time in the hospital to recover after his first treatment, and he was a little nervous coming in, but now he is terrified. Physical side effects? In addition to his illness? Faye laughs quietly and ruffles a hand through her son’s shaggy hair.

“Mostly vomiting. Diarrhea or constipation. Sometimes both. Mood swings. Fatigue.”

Atreus squirms. “Are they the ones you had?” Faye cups his cheek.

“I lost my hair. It used to be long, and wild like a lion’s mane. It never grew back the same. But it did grow, and it reminds me every day that I am a survivor. And you are too.” Atreus leans into her touch, her palm cool on his skin. He likes her hair the way it is, a fiery bob tucked behind her ears, choppy fringe framing her pointed features.

“But I’m scared. I want to be brave like you.”

“But you are,” Faye pulls out a half finished carving from her bag. “You are very brave, just like this little wolf.” She walks the small figure up her son’s arm. “You are very young, and a lot braver than I on my first day. I was a grown up and even I was scared.” She soothes. “It is important to accept that your journey is not going to be easy; there will be times when you do not feel very brave. But you will never feel alone.”

Atreus grins with a new found confidence. If Mother says he’s brave, then he must be. “I’m so glad you’re here. I wish Father was here too, though.”

Doctor Skoll returns with a syringe and Atreus’ eyes widen. He fidgets as the doctor gently rolls up his sleeve and begins to tremble as a damp piece of cotton passes over his skin. Atreus turns his head away and lets out a suppressed sob as the needle penetrates his arm. Tears run down his face and he tries his best to hide his eyes from his mother. His cheeks flush, ashamed. This is when he realises that maybe being brave isn’t about not having fears, but about facing them.

—

Atreus stands before his bathroom mirror, damp and undressed. There is a bruise forming on his knee where his father had held him earlier, adding to his collection. Almost everything causes him to bruise now. Puddling at the base of the shower are large clumps of auburn hair. What’s left on his head clings to his forehead in patches, his freckles peeking through the gaps.

He dries, dabbing carefully around the dark areas. He dresses himself in a small pair of black jeans and a black crew-neck sweater. As he pulls on a small pair of black boots, a breeze comes though the gap in the window and a shiver crawls up his spine, settling in his shoulders. It is the first week of Spring, however the morning air is unforgiving. Since falling ill, Atreus has been more sensitive to the cold and cannot wait until the warmer weather sets in. He scuffs across the hall into his room and picks out a yellow scarf, wrapping it carefully around his neck. He is tucking the ends into his sweater when he notices a large figure standing at his door.

“Your hair,” His father’s voice rumbles.

“It’s fine, it’s been coming out for a while.” Atreus dismisses. He had avoided the enevitable for most of his treatment, he should consider himself lucky.

“It is not fine.” Kratos turns and gestures for his son to follow. They walk downstairs and into the room that had previously belonged to both parents, and into the ensuite. Kratos plugs an electric razor into the wall and before Atreus can realise what’s happening, the tool is buzzing, and is cold against his scalp.

They are silent. Atreus watches his father intently through the mirror, studying his features. His thick beard, his sombre expression. Atreus doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man smile. His father is bald, he chooses to be and Atreus wonders if it’s to show off the red band that winds across his scalp and down his body. He observes the tattoo in admaration. Father looks like a warrior.

Soon the buzzing stops and Atreus looks back to his own reflection. Although he well and truely feels like a cancer patient, he thinks he likes what he sees.

“I look more like you, now.”

Kratos grunts in what his son thinks is approval.

“Yes. Yes you do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, there is that blastared ‘c’ word. I wanted to go as long as possible without actually mentioning ‘cancer’, even though it’s obvious that’s what he has, with the chemo and all. Sort of like an “ignorance is bliss” kind of situation for Atreus. The longer he goes without saying it, the longer he doesn’t have to truely accept it. 
> 
> I also wanted to mention Faye’s cancer without making a big deal of it. I have some more detail planned for future chapters but for now the focus is on our fave boi.
> 
> Also awww, mini me Atreus. All he wants is to impress his da’ <3 he was bald for the longest time during the development of the game, and I thought he looked super cute without hair. I do have a deep love for his lil mohawk though.
> 
> Next chapter will introduce a new friend :D
> 
> Lemmy know what you think! And thank you for reading :)


	4. Mimir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus makes a friend.
> 
> Faye makes a rival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mention of suspected self harm in this chapter*

The ceremony is short. Atreus recites a prayer. Mother’s friends, Brok and Sindri, share a few words through reluctant tears. Kratos whispers a private farewell into the polished wood of the coffin before it is taken away to the crematorium, but this is the only time he speaks.

Atreus feels knowing eyes on him, on his bare scalp. Sindri pretends he hasn’t noticed and Brok gives the boy’s shoulder an awkward squeeze before grumbling and walking away. 

Atreus really likes the brothers. They have been kind to him and were very dear to his mother. Sindri is always very welcoming when Atreus visits the office and sometimes attempts to impress him with mediocre magic tricks. Brok is a little rough around the edges and pretends he doesn’t care about anything, but he has a soft spot for Faye’s son. They were both saddened when she and Kratos brought the awful news of his condition to work, but they try their best not to treat him differently. Atreus is greatful for this. 

He wants to speak to them, but refrains, for they grieve too. They bid brief goodbyes to the father and son. The brothers get into their seperate cars and Kratos helps his child into theirs, buckling him up. Atreus watches as the brothers drive off and emits a small breath of regret. 

He’s been lonely since his mother’s passing. Father said he tried his best to visit him in hospital but Atreus had never felt more isolated. He snuggles longingly into his yellow scarf. He thinks about how proud Mother would’ve been of him today; he hadn’t shed a single tear. He wonders if he is becoming braver. The car starts and he dozes off to the familiar sound of thunder, rolling in from afar.

 

Notes of Tchaikovski filter through the open window, and Atreus awakens in his bed. His ears prick up and he is still half asleep as he clumsily makes his way towards the source of the music. From his room he has a clear view of his neighbour’s yard, and he’s not sure if he is still dreaming when he sees what is on the other side of the fence. 

An old man in a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt is up a step ladder, pruning his plants into all sorts of wonderful creatures. There are a few wolves, some trolls and a huge dragon peiced together from multiple plants, coiling around the yard. The man waves his arms around madly, conducting an imaginary orchestra, clippers in one hand, a book in the other. The music is coming from his house, blasting through a collection of open windows. Atreus blinks in disbelief and for the first time in months, he grins.

The afternoon air is fresh. Atreus tugs a beanie over his ears and before he knows it he is scrambling down the tree outside his window. The music gets louder as he crosses their perfectly trimmed lawn, boots sloshing through the puddles left by the freshly departed storm.

He pushes a deck chair over to the fence. He hauls himself up and peers over rather conspicuously. “Marche Slave!” He calls out. The man looks over, startled.

“Excuse me?” He has a thick Scottish accent.

“Tchaikovsky’s Marche Slave, that’s what you’re listening to. I just never thought I’d hear it again, that’s all.”

The man climbs down from his ladder and approaches the fence.

“Is that so? You like classical music, do you Lad?”

“I do. Mother used to listen to it a lot. She listened to all sorts of music.”

Now that the man is closer, Atreus notices a collection of runes tattooed across his head and lips. He has a long, whispy white beard. Atreus catches a glimpse of a large scar crossing the front of his neck, peaking through his coloured collar. He tries not to look at it. 

He decides to introduce himself.

“My name is Atreus, who are you?”

“Me? I’m the greatest ambassador to all fantasy fans, followers of Tolkien, Jordan and Martin, gamers, book readers and movie goers alike! I know every lore, every word of every chapter written, every deleted scene. They call me Mimir - the most interesting retired historian alive!”

Atreus isn’t sure he caught all of what was said, but he laughs.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mimir.”

Atreus asks about the book that the man is holding, and discovers that it’s one of Mother’s favourites. They talk about movies, their favourite authors and have a spirited debate about where the next Elder Scrolls game is going to be set. They talk about Mimir’s work, and Atreus’ love for reading and languages. Despite his aching body, his weak chest and extreme fatigue, for a moment, Atreus forgets that he’s unwell.

“Say, Laddie, shouldn’t you be at school?”

And it comes flooding back. He isn’t sure what to say. He could pretend he’s just home with the flu and his new friend would be none the wiser. He could start fresh, and have someone he can converse with who doesn’t feel like they have to tread on egg shells. Mother wouldn’t like him to lie, though. 

He hesitates, then lifts his beanie.

“I have T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia,” Atreus recites. “I haven’t been to school for a while.” He bites his tongue and Mimir’s inky lips press into a thin line. “I’m in Maintenance though, so I don’t think I’m dying.” He adds positively. He does think he’s dying, but figures that’s probably too heavy to reveal to someone you’ve just met. 

“Well!” Mimir finally says. “I wasn’t expecting that!” 

They laugh awkwardly and their conversation picks up where it left off.

—

Faye tightens her ponytail and leaves her office. She holds her iPad close to her body as she takes the elevator down to the next floor. She enters confrence room 31.

The room is large and bright, natural light beaming through large windows that cover three out of four walls. The floor is a smooth, polished concrete and the long rectangular table in the centre of the room is carved from a single slab of marble. Faye takes her usual seat at the corner of the table, adjacent to Sindri. Next to him is Brok, next to Brok on the other corner, and opposite Faye is the new architect.

She waits until she catches his gaze and smiles as delightfully as she can. He looks at her for a few moments, expression deadpan, before his eyes drop back down to the A3 drawing board in front of him. Faye screws up her face and rolls her eyes. 

The last of the employees filter in and take their seats, papers and laptops scatter the stone surface. Faye glides her stylus across the glass screen of her device, finalising her design. Sindri speaks up.

“You have been invited to this meeting because you are the best of your devision, and some of our most trusted employees.” Sindri clicks a remote and metal shutters close over the windows from the outside. The room darkens and down from the roof comes a large TV. Sindri clicks the remote again. 

On the screen apears a flawlessly rendered city, with some of the most intricate and magnificent buildings Faye has ever seen. 

In the centre of the CBD is colossal skyscraper, towering over the rest of the metropolis. The top of the building resembles a giant hand, reaching for the clouds. A jungle of highrises surround it, the tallest of them in the centre and the shorter ones towards edge. Next is a layer of large shopping centres and theatres - the entertainment district. After this are estates of modern houses, framed by a ring of luscious parklands, complete with a beautifully manufactured beach.

There is a collective gasp across the room. Sindri is almost bouncing in his seat.

“By now some of you may be aware of our upcoming project; Project Midgard. Brok and myself have been working with our new head architect, Kratos, over the past few months to create a rough design of this city. Yes, my friends, we are building a city.” The room applauds. In the past they had built many hotels, hospitals, and a few estates, but nothing close to this scale.

“Midgard is going to create thousands upon thousands of jobs, and will keep all of you busy and well paid for the next ten to fifteen years. We will need all hands on deck, every single one of these forty floors will be working as a team.” He turns to his brother. “As usual, Brok will be head of construction. I will be head of exterior design and Kratos will be working directly under me.” 

Faye almost protests. It’s taken her years to work up to her position while Kratos has been here for mere months, yet is already the right hand man on their most advanced project? 

“Opposite him will be Faye, head of interior design and decoration. Every table in Midgard, every chair, every clock on every wall will be approved by her.”

The staff nod and chatter in agreement, they are familiar with her work. There is an audiable scoff from across the table and Faye’s hands turn to fists in her lap.

“Do you have something to say, Kratos?” She questions.

“I had just assumed you were the receptionist.”

Before Faye realises what she’s done, Sindri is gasping and Brok chortles as a cup of coffee flies across the table toward Kratos, spilling over the designs in front of him. Faye could’ve heard a pin drop.

 

She sits in the reception outside Brok and Sindri’s offices, head in her hands. Her face is hot with embarrassment and never before in her life has she felt time go so slow. Kratos is inside with the Huldra Brothers, receiving what Faye hopes is -but knows isn’t likely- a stern talking to. She sees them stand through the glass walls and the door opens. Kratos walks past without even looking at her, and Faye tries not to look either. 

As the architect turns the corner, Faye cant help but notice something that she had missed earlier; bandages. Freshly stained bandages, peaking out from underneath his buttoned sleeves. Her stomach drops a little.

Brok saunters off towards the lounge, probably for a cold beer and Sindri lays down a small cloth before taking a seat next to his friend.

“So you fired him, right?” Faye jokes, nervously breaking ice.

“Yes.”

She panics and Sindri laughs.

“No, no we didn’t fire him.” He quickly confirms. “We always have your back, Faye, you’re our favourite. But Kratos really is the best architect in the business, you saw his work in there! He’s here for the long haul but unfortunately he isn’t really a people person.”

Faye thinks she understands.

—

It is dusk out, and Atreus is sitting at their large, quartz breakfast bar, knife and fork in his hands in front of him. His feet swing beneath him and his stomach rumbles. Father is cooking, and for the first time in weeks Atreus feels up to having a full meal. He hums to himself as his father pulls a steaming tray of roast lamb from the oven. The smell fills their contemporary kitchen and Atreus swears that the meat is singing.

If there was one thing he didn’t miss about his mother, it was her cooking. Father was like a walking cook book, knowing many recipes by heart and perfecting them every time. Even with a recipe in front of her, Mother was average at best. Both of her boys ate her food without complaint, but were guaranteed to be making faces behind her back. She was stronger in other areas, anyway.

“Father,”

Kratos grunts.

“I want to go back to school.” 

Kratos almost drops the pan. He carefully places it down next to the roasted veggies he had taken out earlier and pulls off his oven mitts. He turns to face Atreus from the other side of the breakfast bar.

“Boooy,” He warns. He takes off his apron and holds it tightly in one large fist.

“I’m ready! I didn’t react too badly to my last chemo session and I really think going to class and being with kids again could help me take my mind off things.” Off dying, he thinks to himself. Off Mother. “I’ve taught myself many languages, read every book in the house a hundred times and I’ve already cleared out the library. There is nothing more I can learn by myself.”

“Then I will take you to a different library.” He slices the meat up like it’s butter. 

“Father, please. I just want to feel like a boy again.” 

Father doesn’t respond to this but Atreus has a good feeling. Kratos shares the food evenly over both plates before bringing them over. Atreus takes his medication and the pair eat their dinner in comfortable silence. Atreus finishes the whole dish and smiles to himself about what could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mimir ya hoot!!! I was so glad for Atreus to have a pal in the game, it was always so cute how he sat his head next to him whenever they were in the boat :’) Hopefully Mimir can keep the lil spunk company here too.
> 
> A slightly less angsty chapter this time. Next chapter will be similar but then 6 will be heavy :P  
> (I tried not to dwell on the funeral too much because it’s also kept very short and sweet in the game)
> 
> Also you might notice that I’ve changed the chapter amount from 10 to 15!!! That’s because I have officially outlined the story from start to finish and know somewhat where it’s heading :P
> 
> That being said, I have never written a fic this long. I’ve always just done one-shots and the last time I attempted anything with chapters I didn’t get past chapter two :p so any sort of encouragement is hugely appreciated!!!!!! If I know there are a few of you reading I will be more motivated to finish this for sure :D so send in them Kudos, friends! Comments and feedback are obviously very treasured too :DD
> 
> Hope you like it!!!!


	5. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus disappoints himself by disappointing his father.

Atreus drags his feet. It is the first day that the sun has shone in weeks and despite his incredible mood, he is feeling dreadfully under the weather. His face feels hot, his breath is short. He can feel the beginnings of a chest infection- he is no stranger to these. His body is sore, the ache in his neck and groin almost unbearable, but there are only two more days until school camp, and if he can just hold on a little longer-

The school bell rings. Atreus pushes himself to keep up with the other kids as they scurry into their classrooms. 

It is Science Week, and his arms he carries a very treasured project; a 1:100 scale model of Mount Vesuvius, complete with an intricate replica of Pompeii, awaiting its inevitable demise. Father, with some encouragement from Mother, had worked tirelessly with Atreus over the passed fortnight to help bring his creation to perfection. He smiles fondly to himself and is embraced by a warm, fuzzy feeling as he recalls their time together. Atreus sees little of his father and cherishes every moment with him.

He hops up the stairs into his room, grinning at his teacher on the way in.

“That’s very impressive, Atreus!” His teacher praises, ruffling his hair.

“Thank you Ms Freya!” If his smile were to grow any bigger, his face would split in two. He can’t wait for her to see his project in action.

He slides into his usual seat at the end of the first row, carefully placing his magnum opus onto the desk in front of him. He slings his backpack off his shoulder and lets it slide onto the floor next to him. His chest feels tight, he coughs into his arm. The chatter of his friends around him dies down as Ms Freya takes her place at the front of the brighty painted classroom.

“I can see some very excited faces in front of me today! It looks like you have all have worked very hard on your assignments.” 

Atreus nods eagerly. He is squeezing his legs together under his desk in an attempt to dull the pain. 

“You will be presenting your models, along with your prepared speeches, in front of the class over the next two days. Before we leave for camp on Wednesday we will take them to be displayed in the school hall for the other classes to see.” Some of Atreus’ classmates are just as excited as he is, others who perhaps haven’t put in as much effort, are not. 

“Let’s get straight into it! I’m going to draw your names out of a hat.” Atreus groans and Ms Freya laughs. Usually they go alphabetically. “We’re going to give someone else a chance to be first this time.” She says affectionately.

They all write their names on a piece of paper and drop them into the hat as she walks through the isles. She takes a seat on the edge of her desk and one by one, the young students present their work. 

About an hour passes and his name still hasn’t been called. His body is flashing hot and cold and his sore areas are beginning to feel swollen. He pushes his model aside slightly and rests his head on his desk, pressing his hands between his legs. He doesn’t even notice when the bell rings for lunch.

Ms Freya asks him if he’s feeling alright. He’s just a bit tired after all of his hard work, he assures her. 

When the other children come back in, Atreus sits up again. There is a guest scientist standing next to Ms Freya and Atreus has been counting down the days to hear him speak. A wave of pain washes over him and he shuts his eyes tight, just for a moment. When they open again, he realises that the scientist has left and in his place is another classmate, already half way through their presentation. 

He shakes his head and blinks vigorously, trying to snap himself out of whatever has come over him.

“Atreus?” His focus is back on the front of the room. It’s empty. “Atreus!” His eyes find his teacher and he stares at her, confused. “Atreus, it’s your turn sweetie.” 

“Oh,”

Atreus stands. He looks around, all eyes are on him. He picks up his model. The room is spinning. He lifts one leg and places it cautiously in front of the other. He repeats this action with the other leg. With great concentration he propels himself to the front of the room. He is nearly there when he realises that hasn’t taken a breath for a while and all of a sudden his model is in the air, and his hands are not. The next thing he knows he is on the floor, his model in pieces in front of him.

—

Atreus is almost skipping, as best as a whithered child can. He pulls ahead of Father, his hand coiled tightly around the man’s bandaged wrist. 

“Father you walk as slow as you drive! I don’t want to be late on my first day back,”

“You have missed over a year of school, boy. Another few minutes will make no difference. Slow down.”

After many nights of petition, Father has finally allowed Atreus to return to classes, much to Father’s discontent, for just a few days a week. The small being is trembling with anticipation, he can’t remember the last time he has spoken with another child.

They approach Atreus’ new classroom and he beams when he sees the teacher inside. 

“Ms Freya!” 

The lady looks over from her chalkboard and joy overcomes her. She hurries to the doorway and kneels down, taking Atreus into her arms. He leans into her embrace.

“It is so good to see you again!”

“And you, Atreus! You’ve grown taller!” Atreus is pleased that this is the first thing she notices.

Father takes the small backpack off his shoulder and hands it to his son. “Sit while we talk,” He says, almost fondly, as he motions for Atreus to enter the empty class. Atreus nods and begins to obey, but feels a large hand on his shoulder holding him back. Father crouches down and pulls a small beanie from his pocket, pulling it snugly over his son’s hairless head. He makes a small sound of approval and gestures into the room again. 

“In.”

He watches as his son takes a seat and he rises, making eye contact with the woman beside him. “You will call me if he so much as sneezes,” He begins. His voice shakes. It’s subtle, but it’s there. “If he is tired, you call me. If he says he-“ Freya puts a firm hand on his arm, her eyes are sympathetic.

“I’ll call you.”

“I will be at work, not far from here. I can return at a moments notice.” He pulls out a small plastic box from his leather satchel. The bell rings and students filter past them and into the room. “He must take these. He is embarrassed to take his medication in front of others, so be... delicate about it.”

“I understand, I’ll wait until the other students are outside.”

“Make sure that he eats,”

“He will be fine, Kratos. I will see to it.” Kratos looks to his son. Atreus is cheekily shooing him away. He is already chatting to the other students and Kratos thinks he’s done the right thing. He looks Freya in the eyes one last time and nods, content. 

“Kratos,” Freya says as he begins to leave. “I am sorry for your loss.” 

Kratos clenches his teeth and keeps walking.

 

He puts his hand up lots, asks many questions and answers many others. It’s almost like he never left. Freya discovers that Atreus is well ahead of his class, and sends for books from the high school for him to read. These are no challenge for him, either.

The lunch bell rings in no time and Atreus hangs back to take his pills. Freya puts a hand on his shoulder as he swallows them down, lightly stoking the base of his neck. She frowns. This child has been to hell and back and she feels flooded with responsibility for him.

“How are you, Atreus?” She asks honestly. His skin is pale, his shocking blue eyes stand out against the red circles that surround them. He carries a weariness beyond his years. This isn’t the glowing little boy she remembers. Atreus smiles. 

“I’m much better now,” He chimes, not to worry her.

“You know you can always talk to me.”

“I know.”

She ruffles his beanie and he trots outside to join his friends.

—

He is on his Mother’s lap, their chests pressed together. She holds him tightly and his head drapes over her shoulder. Her sleeve is damp where his lips are. He can see human anatomy charts on the wall behind her. Mother’s chest moves up and down, deeply and inconsistently. Her hair smells like wild flowers.

He lying on a table. Fingers press and prod. There are voices. Mother’s voice, voices he doesn’t recognise. Father is there, too. He can make out words, but struggles to piece them together. 

Thymus... enlarged... breathing...

Lymph nodes... swelling... 

Shortage... cells... spreading...

Mother’s mouth is pressed to his forehead and Atreus feels that her face is wet. She feels like ice on his molten skin. Father is shouting. 

They are in the car, it is dark out. Atreus stirs. Why isn’t he at school? Where is his project? Father will be angry if he finds out he wasted his time. His parents speak in hushed tones in the front of the vehicle. Father sounds disappointed.

Cursed...

Father’s words rumble deep in his diaphragm.

The boy has been cursed...

The car door opens. Atreus feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach as large arms scoop him up. He closes his eyes, ashamed, and never wants to open them again.

—

The other kids have been welcoming. Not many of them had stayed in touch when his parents took him out of school, but they were happy for him to be back. Atreus knows they don’t understand his illness, and he hopes to keep it that way. 

They are in the middle of a game of soccer when Atreus is approached by some of the high school kids.

“Hey, you’re pretty good.” Atreus grins, because he is. He has amazed himself with how quickly he had managed to pick the game up again, and even if he can’t run as fast or as long as the other kids, he knows how to manipulate the ball.

“Thanks! I’m Atreus.”

“Modi, this is my brother Magni.”

“Cool. Wanna play?”

They join in, even though the high school kids aren’t really meant to mingle with the primary school kids. They are rough and shout insults when he starts slowing down, but Atreus is having too much fun to mind.

His coughing flares up and he reluctantly takes himself out of the game. He has pushed himself to his limit and is quite happy just to watch. The brothers take a seat next to him at the edge of the field. 

“Tired already?” Magni jeers. Atreus picks at the grass beneath him. He doesn’t answer, he’s just glad to have some company.

“Nice tattoos.” Modi says after while, and Atreus isn’t sure if he’s being genuine or not. He drops the small fistful of grass and looks at his hand. The ink has become a part of him and he often forgets that tattoos aren’t commonly something people his age have.

“Thanks, I’ve got one behind my ear, too.” He pulls his beanie up slightly, showing off his ink.

“What are they for?”

Atreus traces a finger along the under side of his wrist.

“I used to do a lot of archery before I got sick. Mother was state champion and it’s something we used to do together. I was good. When I became unwell my arms got weak, Mother gave me these runes to bring me strength.” He adjusts his beanie. “And this one is to help me keep a steady mind. I needed it.” He chuckles nervously. No one has ever asked him about his tattoos. 

Modi makes a face and Magni laughs. Atreus is startled.

“A bit of a mummy’s boy, then?” Modi jokes. “She must be real disappointed in you for giving it all up.”

Something in Atreus snaps and he pushes himself to his feet. He isn’t in the mood for this.

“What’s wrong? You little freak.” Modi grabs the smaller boy’s arm, pulling him back. Atreus puffs. He thought these boys liked him. 

“Your mother raised a freak!” Magni joins in.

“Have you seen his dad? She must’ve been a whore too, to have slept with him.”

Everything goes red.

His body burns, anger seeping through his pores.

“I’ll kill you!” He means it.

He leaps onto the teen, bringing a tight fist into his face. Modi cries and Magni pulls the little boy off his brother, laughing out of shock. He pins him down by his thoat, Atreus thrashing beneath him.

“Say that again, you little freak! I dare you!” Modi taunts, nursing his injury.

“I’ll rip your head off!” Atreus is screaming when Freya pulls him up by his shirt, pushing the high school boy off him.

He screams all the way to Freya’s classroom. He bangs violently on the door as Freya shuts it behind her, hastily dialing Kratos’ number.

“You need to come and collect your son.”

 

Like promised, Kratos is there within minutes. 

“What is wrong? Where is he?” He interrogates, fearing the worst.

“Your son is a ball of fire and rage,” Freya says simply. “He punched one of the high school kids in the face and broke his nose. He left some nasty scratches on another.”

Kratos is shocked, disappointed, and impressed?

“It was deserved. The brothers will be delt with by their own teachers.” Freya smirks. “But that doesn’t excuse the fact that your son is in there, screaming death threats and damaging school property.”

They approach the door and listen. 

There is silence. 

Freya opens the door carefully and the adults peer inside. The room is a mess. Tables and chairs are flung across the room. Papers and books litter the floor.

Sitting on Freya’s desk crosslegged, is Atreus. He grins when he sees his father and waves. On his lap is the class pet, a small tortoise that Freya sometimes brings in from home.

They watch as the boy strokes the little scaled head with a careful finger. He is calm. He whispers to it, and it almost seems like he is waiting for a reply.

“Death threats?” Kratos muses. Freya nods.

They approach the boy and Freya takes the tortoise, placing him back in his home. Atreus apologises to his teacher, promising not to let it happen again. Kratos thanks her for calling him and promises he will deal with the boy accordingly.

“Boy,” Kratos says gruffly, as they head to the car. “You know more than to involve yourself in these brawls.”

“I know Father. I’m sorry.” 

“I expect better from you.”

Kratos picks up his son and feels him deflate in his arms. He places him in the back seat and helps him with his seat belt. Atreus’ eyes become glassy, hugely disappointed in himself. He whimpers.

“Son,” Kratos takes his child’s face in both hands. Soft, freckled cheeks flinch under his touch. His fingers stroke where small bruises are forming, then trail downwards over dry lips. 

“We will try again tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay Freya and Chaurli! Best pals :)
> 
> This one turned out a little less uplifting than I was intending it to be? It wasn’t meant to be angsty at all, if anything it was actually meant to be funny :P I am not good at humour. 
> 
> I really struggled with the pacing of this chapter, and I wasn’t sure which way to order the present and past sections :/  
> I think it turned out okay! But I’m not as pleased with it as I could be :O
> 
> I was really happy to write a chapter all about Atreus, and how enthusiastic (and angry :P) he can be. Little dude had some anger issues, I wonder where he gets it from. I wanted to also show that despite what Atreus thinks he knows, Kratos really does care for his son. I was also so tempted for him to say “do not be sorry, be better” after Trey’s little apology but I didn’t wanna keep stealing lines from the game :’P missed opportunity though.
> 
> Any feedback is greatly appreciated!! Have a fantastic day everyone and thank you for reading!


	6. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kratos learns something new about Faye.
> 
> Atreus learns something new about Kratos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Self harm in this chapter. While I’m at it there is also more vomit** **should I have been putting vomit warnings too?** **whoops**

Atreus is still a little unsettled, but is relieved that Father is allowing him a second chance after the trouble he had caused. He wants to prove himself and is going to embrace every opportunity he gets to do so. 

Father drives slowly as usual, the radio crackles and then is silent as they pull into an underground car park. Atreus takes off his beanie and stuffs it into his backpack. Father’s work is always cosy, so he won’t be needing it in here.

“We will not be long.” His father says, opening the car door for him. Atreus quickly grabs one of the books Ms Freya had lent him as he gets out, just incase. 

They step into the elevator and Kratos lets Atreus press the buttons. The lift dings, signaling they are at the top floor, and they step out. Atreus does a double take when he sees that Father’s whole office is staring at them in suspense.

“The little pig shit is alive!” Brok exclaims. “Geezes, Mister Melodrama, you nearly gone give us all a fuckin’ aneurism!” 

Kratos grunts and presses his palm into the blue man’s face, simultaneously shoving him out of the way and shutting him up. He marches towards what he had known to be Faye’s office. Atreus gets comfortable in the lounge and Sindri brings him a glass of apple juice from their mini bar.

“Your father told us it was your first day back at school. How did it go, little man?” He plants himself into an armchair next to his young friend and digs into a mixed greens salad. He acts as casually as he can, trying to ignore the fact that dozens of his and his brother’s employees had been nervously waiting to find out if their collective son was okay. Kratos had taken off in such a flurry and it had left them all very concerned.

“I got in a fight.”

“Oh!”

“I broke his nose!” 

“Oh.”

“There was blood everywhere, Sindri!”

“Ooooohhh.” Sindri shudders and Atreus giggles, his body aching from the slight movement. Sindri places his salad on the coffee table between them, suddenly not very hungry. 

“There’s still some on my knuckles, wanna see?” He teases. Sindri gags. He turns his whole body away and Atreus has to assure him multiple times that he may have been exaggerating.

“Boy,” Atreus is still sniggering when Kratos approaches. He quickly seals his lips when he sees the look on his father’s face.

He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Come.” In his arms, a stack of boxes. Atreus shrugs at Sindri and quickly follows his father to the elevator, not quite getting to finish his juice. 

—

Kratos looks up from his drafts for the fifth time that morning, brow furrowing at the unsolicited music blasting from the office opposite his. He shakes his head and begrudgingly gets up from his desk.

Faye is fixing her hair into a messy bun when she hears knocking on her glass wall. She flashes a toothy grin at the man and points to the paper sign she has attached to the door.

Kratos fumes and tears the sign down. He storms into Sindri’s office, tossing the scrunched up paper onto his desk.

“‘No interruptions, genius at work’? You are going to let her get away with this?”

“Oh Faye,” Sindri says fondly. He can hear the music from here. “I suppose not. I’ll speak with her.”

Kratos grunts and gets back to work.

—

Atreus sits on the floor of his shower, knees pulled close to his body. Hot water gushes over him and steam fills the room, soothing his chest.

His busy day has left him exhausted and his encounter at school has left his neck purple. The dull throbbing he commonly gets under his jaw has felt closer to a stabbing sensation since the rough hands had made contact there. The swelling in his other problem areas hasn’t been too bad, but it’s enough to bother him. The usual pain in the rest of his body, however, is more intense than he’s used to. He had overdone it. 

He pushes out a low groan, his forehead meets his knees. His eyes close and he doesn’t know low long he is sitting there for but he is too sore and worn to get up. He is barely conscious when Father gathers him up in a towel and tucks him into bed.

 

The next morning is cooler than the last and Atreus dresses for school. He wears his yellow scarf to cover the bruising and the small beanie from his father. Dark blue jeans clothe his legs and a grey sweater keeps his torso warm. His clothes are a little loose on him these days.

He makes his way down stairs, leaning heavily on the hand rail for support. Father is waiting at the front door, keys in hand. 

“You are sure you are well enough?”

Atreus nods and wipes his nose on his sleeve, pushing past his father and through the front door. He was going to prove that he deserved this second chance. Plus, he had been up early reading the books from Ms Freya and was excited to swap them over for more. 

—

He is going over papers in the shared lounge when he sees her. She is styling a yellow scarf around the top of her head. Orange pieces of messy hair hang out, framing her face unintentionally, but perfectly. Her iPad is on the coffee table next to her, untouched. He wonders how she so often gets out of actually working.

—

It takes all of Kratos’ might to not get out of the car to walk his son in, but Atreus had begged for him to leave him at the drop off zone like the other parents do, and who was he to deny him that?

“Second time lucky, right?” Atreus chirps, getting his backpack from the trunk of the car. Father passes a small paper bag through the front window. He had made his son bacon and egg quiche for breakfast that morning and was damned if the boy didn’t at least try it. 

“I will be back after lunch to pick you up for your chemo, don’t forget.”

“Don’t come inside, I’ll come out!” Atreus calls over his shoulders as he jogs to catch up with some friends on their way in. Kratos catches him showing off his bruised knuckles and rolls his eyes. 

A feeling swells inside of him as he watches his child walk away. A feeling very alien to Kratos. Every doctor they had seen had told him that Atreus would never see school again. But here he is, his strong little boy heading off to class.

Kratos feels hopeful.

 

The afternoon rolls around far too quickly for Atreus. He has been given many new books, from the local university this time, and Ms Freya allows him to sit with her tortoise (Chaurli, as Atreus calls him) while he reads. He hasn’t felt well physically, but he has at least kept himself distracted.

At lunch time he gives soccer a miss, his body not yet forgiven him for yesterday’s game. He seeks out Magni and Modi instead to apologise, but not without threatening to kill them both if they ever diss his mother again. They run away and Atreus calls them both cowards.

The bell rings for classes to resume and Atreus packs up his belonging, giving Chaurli a little kiss goodbye and thanks Ms Freya for the books. He says he’ll see her as soon has he’s better from chemo.

He walks out to the car where his father is waiting. Atreus’ stomach does somersaults, the empty seat besides Father, reminding him that this is his first session since Mother died.

—  
It is 9am and Krato finishes the last of his coffee. His eyes are heavy but he has finished specifics of his design. He looks over the edge of his computer and into the woman’s office. Faye is late. He seethes, he has worked through the night to meet this deadline and his partner has gotten away with flouncing along, drawing pretty little couches and playing with her hair.  
—

“Will you read to me?”

“You can not read to yourself, boy?” Kratos doesn’t even look up from his drawing board.

“I can,” Atreus frowns. Mother taught him to read at a young age, but she had still read to him often; her voice soothing him as the medication took over. Doctor Hati is hooking the dosage up to the port in Atreus’ chest when he all of a sudden starts to cry.

Kratos is caught off guard, had he done this?

“Boy.”

He reaches for the small shoulder, which is pulled roughly from his grasp.

“Boy!” Atreus covers his face with his hands, wanting desperately to hide these emotions from his stoic father.

“Son,” Kratos softens. Atreus peaks between his fingers. He speaks up in a small, wet voice,

“I miss her.” 

Hati finishes setting up and leaves them. Kratos doesn’t speak. Instead he lifts his son from his recliner and sits in his place, repositioning his son onto his lap. Atreus curls into his father’s chest and his sobs begin to cease as a large hand holds him steadily. He lifts Atreus’ cherished book of Shakespeare from the small table beside them and continues from where his son had folded the page.

Rigid breaths steady under his father’s strong embrace and low tones. His voice isn’t soft like Mother’s, but it calms him nonetheless.

—

It is noon when she finally arrives. Kratos paces his office, he had been ready for hours. He heads out the door and is about to speak his mind when he halts. He is speechless at what he sees in the office in front of him. 

Faye looks up and smiles, she gestures for him to enter.

“I’ve got all of it, Spartan,” She says, clicking her stylus a few times on her graphics tablet. “Some of these took me days to render, but I really wanted the textures to be as close to life as possible.” Kratos does not even look at her screen.

“Your... Hair.” He murmurs. Faye looks up, perplexed.

“Oh! Yes, too much of it was coming out and it was becoming difficult for me to style, so after my session this morning I decided to shave it.” She continues to go through her files.

Kratos splutters. “I, I don’t...” He trails off. “Why?”

“Well I suppose my chemotherapy doses were becoming too much for my hair follicles to handle. It had to happen sooner or later. Check your emails, I’ve just sent them off, you’ll really love these!”

Kratos is astonished.

“Faye, you have cancer?” She nods. “And you still come in every day? And managed to design a whole superstructure’s worth of unique furniture on a deadline?” She nods again and saves the files to her iPad. She is excited to see what Brok and Sindri have to say.

“I’m just really passionate about my work!” She twitters on her way out.

Kratos sits down in Faye’s computer chair, trying to make sense of their exchange.

He had severely underestimated this woman.

—

A surge of nausea wakes Atreus in the middle of the night, body hot and trembling. His face is sticky and gums are stinging as he switches on his lamp. There is blood staining his pillow. He grabs a handful of tissues and lets the moisture in his mouth soak into them and they turn red in his hands. He wipes at the drying blood on his face and lowers himself to the floor. Hands cold on the polished surface, he crawls across the hall to the bathroom.

His legs wrap tightly around the support of the toilet and he heaves his insides into the basin. Vomit comes and comes until there is nothing left, but still his body fights to rid him of the chemicals that work to save his life. Atreus thinks that it will never end.

His stomach hurts, muscles burning from the workout. He holds his midsection hopelessly and rests his face on the toilet seat, defeated, tears pooling onto porcelain.

He begins to shake again, his mouth waters. Another wave of nausea washes over him and he cries into the toilet, heaving. Yellow bile dribbles down the inside of the bowl.

Mother always used to rub his back on nights like these, and tell him stories about the little wooden animals that she carved for him. He remembers when she would scoop him up like a ball of ice cream and bring him into bed with her. Atreus wonders if Father would do the same.

He dabs the blood from his gums and rinses out his mouth. Wiping his face clean with a damp cloth, Atreus gathers himself. He tiptoes down stairs.

He slips into his parent’s room, the bed is empty. His eyes adjust to the darkness and notices that the ensuite door is open slightly, the dull light from below the mirror seeping through the gap. Atreus peers in.

Father stands over the sink, holding his wrists. He wears red silk boxers and a loose black t-shirt, muscles prominent through the fabric. There is an envelope on the bench in front of him, unopened. 

He strokes his bandages. Eyes distant, he tugs at them, removing them slowly. Atreus watches in silence as the dressings come off, and bit by bit, he is confronted by scars. Old scars. Fresh scars. They texture Father’s forearms like waves do the ocean.

Some still bleed, Atreus notices.

Father reaches into the draw below the sink. Out he pulls a small knife, decorative but sharp. He inhales and closes his eyes. His thumb traces along the intricate detailing of the handle.

A long breath out and Father brings the knife to an arm, slicing through new and healed wounds. Again. Again. His skin opens and dark blood leaks out, dripping into the sink below. His strokes are quick and deep.

How does he not cry? Atreus wonders. How does he cut himself and not be hurt? _Father must be really strong._

Minutes pass and Father’s arms are painted, thick wetness flowing from the many gashes that adorn his skin.

Blood lines the sink. The red on white reminds Atreus of Father’s pale, tattooed face, before the water finally washes it down. Kratos cleans up and returns the knife it to its home. He pulls fresh bandages from the same draw and as he begins to wrap, the boy slips away, unnoticed, and tucks himself into Father’s bed.

Atreus wakes to bandaged arms tight around him, Father’s beard buried into the bruises of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this story is progressing!!! I swear!! D:
> 
> This is one of the chapters I’ve been looking forward to writing the most!! Not because I enjoy hurting these characters (:D;;;;) but because the last segment was one of the first I thought of before I had even started chapter 1. I guess I just wanted to get it down on paper! 
> 
> I feel like my writing is starting to get really repetitive (I’m starting to get a bit of writers block ugh) so please let me know if you think it’s getting boring :o
> 
> I’m trying to include as much character progression as I can but I feel like it just ain’t happening :P it just comes from lack of experience though, I’m sure I will improve over time! 
> 
> Also can we have some love for Sindri and his salad? :D 
> 
> If you have gotten this far into this fic, thank you so much for sticking around!!!!! Please feel free to let me know what you think so far :)
> 
> As usual, thank you for reading!


	7. Forsaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus confides in Mimir.
> 
> Kratos fails his wife and child.

Wolf. Lion. Elephant. Monkey. Eagle. Pig. Llama. Cow. Dog. Tiger. Fox. Rat. Frog. Rhinoceros. Squirrel. Crocodile. Deer. Turtle. Penguin. Rooster. Gorilla. Kangaroo. Otter. Possum. Scorpion. Rabbit. Horse.

Twenty-seven wooden animals guard Atreus’ bedroom window, each representing a five hour session of chemotherapy. Few with Father. Most with Mother. Some with both. One alone. 

Mother had hand carved each animal during his intoxitated hours, and they are his most treasured possessions. 

The day is warm, the spring air finally making itself known and Atreus can hear Mimir’s usual classical music floating through his window. Edvard Grieg’s The Hall of the Mountain King, this time. Atreus recalls the tale that Mother had told him of the valiant Peer Gynt running away from a hoard of terrifying goblins, the climax of the piece signifying his narrow escape. 

Memories of Mother come flooding back and the sensation of loneliness swallows him whole. He closes his window and heads down stairs. 

It’s been a week since his latest treatment and he is feeling only a little queasy. He’s noticed that his reactions to the high doses are becoming less intense. He’s also had a healthy appetite as of recent, and this morning the pain of his body from the build up of cancer cells resembles only mere growing pains. 

He is fatigued, but despite what he has believed so long, he thinks he may be getting better.

He approaches Father’s study. Kratos has been working from home since Faye’s passing, and although it’s the most Atreus has seen of him in his life, they haven’t spoken much.

“Father?” Atreus knocks cautiously on the open door.

“Boy.”

Atreus enters. His father is behind his drafting table, nose burried in tracing paper, sheets of balsa wood and scale rulers. Atreus nudges under his father’s arm, rubbing up against his firm body. Father doesn’t respond.

“Do you know any stories?”

Father grumbles. 

“Now is not the time for stories.”

“Please?”

“I am working, boy.”

Atreus groans and kicks the leg of the desk. 

“You’re always working.” He complains, closing the door on his way out.

Since collecting Mother’s belongings from work after his fight at school, Father had been especially distant. Save for a few touches here, a few short sentences there, Atreus feels isolated from his father. He wonders if he’s done something wrong.

—

Kratos sits in bed, his mechanical pencil sketching vigorously on the gridded paper beneath it. Dawn is approaching when a slender arm coils around his waist. 

“Have you been up all night again?” His wife murmurs, displeased, he feels her warm breath on his thigh.

He has been. He gives no response.

Kratos pushes the arm from around him, her touch is a hindrance to his concentration. He has a deadline to meet and time is money.

—

Sick of feeling alone, Atreus decides to visit Mimir. He makes a quick detour, sneaking into Father’s bathroom on the way.

He rings the doorbell and waits anxiously, shifting from foot to foot. The two had shared many lengthy conversations over the back fence, but neither had visited the other.

“Little Brother! Can I help you?”

“I was wondering if I could come inside?”

Mimir is a little surprised at this. He rubs at his neck and the scar across his throat shifts slightly at the movement. “Of course! Well, only if it’s okay with yer Da’.”

“Yeah,” He dismisses. Mimir steps aside and Atreus enters.

The old man’s house is a collector’s dream. Signed and framed posters of every fantasy film imaginable clad his walls, book shelves filled with pages of adventure in every room. Special edition figurines cover every available surface and Atreus feels like he’s entered candy shop.

Mimir turns down his music and gestures for Atreus to take a seat on the couch. He switches on the TV and sets up the PlayStation.

The two play in friendly competition and a few hours in, Mimir notices that Atreus has been unusually quiet. 

“Is something troubling you, lad?” He asks carefully, as their characters enter a new level. The screen loads quickly and they begin again, Mimir performing complicated combos, Atreus mashing buttons, frustrated.

“I just wish Father could be more like you.” His voice is barely above a whisper. Mimir notices that the boy’s arms are trembling, controller tight in his hands.

“Aw laddie! What makes you say that?”

“I have known him my whole life, but we are strangers. He doesn’t spend time with me, doesn’t try to get to know me. I know he has work, but I’ve been really lonely without Mother. I just wanted him to try.” Atreus sets his controller aside.

“Little Brother... Your father grieves just like you do. Just give him time.”

Atreus snorts.

“Father doesn’t grieve. Father doesn’t feel pain, emotional or physical. He is strong... And I am weak. I am sick and I am sad and he doesn’t want me because I’m not like him.” His voice trembles, not with sorrow but with anger. What’s left of his fingernails dig into his palms. He takes a deep breath before quietly confessing, “When I found out that Mother was dying, I wished it could be him instead.”

Mimir pauses the game.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, lad.”

“I’m sorry I feel anything.” 

—

Two hours later and the lunches are packed, teeth are brushed, school shoes are tied and Kratos’ designs are finally ready for his client. He does a final round of the house, making sure that all of the windows and doors are locked before joining his wife and child in the car. 

He is eyes are heavy as he puts his key into the ignition. He only has 20 minutes until he is meant to have dropped his wife and daughter off at the school and have himself at work, ready to present. He would’ve been more organised if he hadn’t had to attend the school musical the night before. Calliope only had one line, and now he is running late.

He takes the toll road. At this point he is so short on time that he doesn’t think twice about paying the unreasonably high fare. He may be a little over the spead limit, but they are nearly at the school. 

—

Although he is appreciative of Mimir for listening, Atreus is embarrassed for getting upset. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt and makes an attempt to change the topic.

“Mimir, how did you get that scar?”

“Oh this?” Mimir rubs his throat. “It’s a bit of a story.“ Atreus perks up.

“I love stories!” 

“It was my last day of work, and I was speaking at a university. The students were not interested in the least- they just wanted to go home. Well little did they know, they were about to become a lot more interested!” Atreus pulls his knees to his chest, listening intently.

“I had almost finished my talk when an alarm sounded, signalling a lockdown. In an organised manor the students hid below their desks. I was just about to lock the door when a large, bearded man barges in, knife in hand!”

“No!!”

“Yes! He grabs me, and holds the knife to my throat. He is yelling for his son, and is threatening to kill me if I don’t turn him over.” Atreus is on the edge of his seat.

“Now, I cant help this man, I don’t know who is son is so I am helpless. His knife presses into my skin, and my life flashes before my eyes!” Mimir is standing now, gesturing wildly.

“Then what happened?!” Ateus is standing too.

“I passed out and woke in hospital.”

“Oh.” Atreus sits again. “Well who was the guy?”

“I never knew! Some crazy husband with relationship issues. He was looking for his son, threatening a murder suicide. I never found out if he went through with it or not.” 

—

Kratos doesn’t even realise that he’s fallen asleep until the car is already spinning into oncoming traffic. The incredible force of metal on metal shakes his body and shatters bones as the impact flips them into the air.

Glass showers them as they crash down onto bitumen, sliding into another lane only to be hit a second time. 

Kratos chokes on blood and smoke fills the car. When they finally stop sliding, it occurs to him that the vehicle is silent.

Lysandra.

He reaches for his wife, he can barely see her through the haze in the air and the blood on his face. Shaking, he grasps her hand and time stops when he realises it hasn’t grasped back.

He thrashes, trying to free himself from the dashboard that encases his legs. He freezes.

There is a stillness in the back seat.

Calliope.

He tries desperately to twist his body around and an overwhelming pain shudders through him. He looks down, he is impaled. A sharp piece of metal protrudes through his abdomen and into the chair behind him.

He calls their names desperately and doesn’t stop even when emergency services are cutting him free.

He begs them to stop, they must free his girls first.

When they don’t, that’s when he knows.

—

They deep into a competitive Wii U game when Atreus mentions he’s feeling a bit off colour. Mimir fetches him a bucket and Atreus decides to just sit and watch as his companion plays for awhile.

“This is really nothing,” He promises. “I’m usually a lot more sick than this after treatment. It was only really bad for the first night this time!” He contradicts himself by leaning forward and releasing his insides into the bucket in his lap, his knees tightening around it. Atreus laughs as wipes his mouth.

“See! It’s usually way worse than that.” He quickly leans into the bucket again.

Mimir tuts and puts a careful arm around the boy as he splutters.

“Aaah, Little Brother, it may be best you get home to yer father. He must be missing you.” Atreus doesn’t think so, but he nods in agreement. He thanks Mimir for his hopitality and sees himself out. 

It is dark outside. He must’ve been out the whole day. He sneaks back into the house through the front and finds that door to Father’s study is still closed. He hasn’t even noticed, Atreus sneers.

He pulls himself up the staircase and into his bathroom to be sick some more, Mimir’s story at the front of his mind. 

He is glad that although Father might be a stranger to him, he at least hasn’t killed anybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time! Next chapter should be longer :o 
> 
> I tried to sneak in something to sorta set up the next chapter, but made it maybe so subtle that there was probally no use putting it in :P but if I had made it any more obvious it would’ve stood out too much. So I’ve just left it as it is :P
> 
> Look at that! We’re nearly half way there! :)
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated and thank you for reading!


	8. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus is jealous of Father.
> 
> Faye and Kratos get to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Self harm in this chapter.**

Atreus gets ready for school. He is excited about his first whole day, and is determined to prove to Father that he can make this a regular occurrence. He gathers his books from Ms Freya, his finger tracing each spine fondly as he places them into his bag. He wonders which ones she might lend him next.

Mimir is outside in his garden, wearing another one of his Hawaiian tshirts, classical music blaring as per usual. His plants are looking especially green thanks to the rain they had overnight and Atreus is glad that his neighbour’s garden creatures are well fed. He taps on the glass of his window, hoping to get the older man’s attention. He doesn’t hear but Arteus waves anyway. 

For almost two years, this is the room where Atreus has spent most of his days, many of which he was too frail even to leave his bed. He has many fond memories of Mother in this room. Every piece of furniture is her design, and in this space, Atreus swears he can still feel her presence.

He can recall every book she had read to him here, every language she had taught. He remembers every time she carried him to the bathroom because he could not make it there himself, every time she kissed his fevered forehead. 

This room also houses some not so fond memories, many sleepless nights where he was certain he was not going make it to sunrise. He had said goodbye to his mother many times in this room, and it hurts him every day that he couldn’t say it to her when it counted most.

Atreus slings his bag over both shoulders and crosses another box off his calander; only three more months of therapy until he is supposedly cured. He downs his pills and the smell of freshly baked bagels wishes him a good morning as he heads down stairs.

Father sits on the lowest few steps, a paper bag and a small lunchbox next to him. The front door is open, letting in the fresh morning breeze along with some of Mimir’s clippings. Atreus reaches the bottom. Father is much taller than him, even when sitting down.

“Your lunch,” Kratos passes his son the plastic container. Atreus unzips his backpack and the light catches on something inside before he shoves the lunch box down, zipping the bag up again. 

“And your breakfast.” He holds up the paper bag and Atreus notices that Father has drawn a smiley face on it. Atreus mimics the expression. “Are you ready?”

Atreus nods and they exit, Kratos locking up behind them. He helps his son into the back seat and does up his seatbelt. He slides into the front, and has been sitting there for a while when Atreus wonders why they haven’t started driving yet.

“Boy.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“We will be making a detour this morning, to the crematorium. We are to pick up your mother’s ashes.” Atreus is surprised, he thought Father had forgotten.

“Are we going to scatter them at the top of the tower?” He is hopeful. Father doesn’t answer.

They reach their destination and Atreus is told to wait in the car while Father is inside. He cheerfully obeys. Peering into the paper bag, he pulls out the cure to his rumbling stomach. The bagel is still warm, and crammed with smoked chicken, roasted capsicum, avocado, tomato chilli relish and a sprinkling of shaved pine nuts. His favourite.

He digs in happily, thankful that his stomach feels well enough to enjoy this righteous creation.

Atreus is playfully flicking crumbs through the crack in the window when Father returns. His eyes adhere immediately to the precious package in Father’s hands and an intense gravitas overcomes him. 

This is all that is left of her.

“So, will we take her after school?” Atreus asks quietly as Father settles in, securing the urn to the seat next to him. Again, no response. “To... the tower?” Atreus is confused by his father’s silence; he thought this is what they had planned. What Mother had planned. Kratos starts the engine.

“You said this was what she wanted.” Atreus feels his blood begin to boil at his father’s nonchalance. How is he not affected by this? By Mother’s ashes, here in the car with them? Atreus wonders desperately why he feels so incredibly hurt by the loss of his mother, while Father does not. 

“Do you hear me!?” Atreus raises his voice.

“I heard you, and we are not going. You are not ready for this.” Kratos knows how deeply his son hurts. He hears his sobs in the morning, his wailing at night. Now is not the time.

“Not... ready?” Atreus is aghast. A pause. ”...Is it because I’m ‘cursed’?” He wants Father to know that he had heard those hurtful words, all those months ago. A powerful heat creeps up from his chest.

“It’s so easy for you, not being affected by any of this! But not once do you think about how difficult this is for me! I miss her so much!” Atreus is shouting, now, and every ounce of him trembles. 

Kratos continues to drive in silence, his son hot and raging in the seat behind him.

“It hurts! And you will never know what that pain feels like, to wake up in hospital to find out that your whole life has been taken away! Because you feel nothing, and I feel everything! And I’m sick of it!” Atreus seethes, swallowed by jealousy.

Kratos remembers waking up in hospital after the crash all those years ago, to be reminded that he was the only one to survive. He remembers that information hitting him harder than the car had, and how he had never forgiven himself for it.

He remembers waking up next to Faye’s lifeless body, after cradling her until his tears lulled him to sleep. He remembers the the incredible pain he felt in that moment, how he would have given his life so that Atreus wouldn’t have to endure it too, on top of his illness. He remembers how his heart broke when he realised that his son didn’t have a choice.

They reach the school and Kratos pulls over at the drop off zone. Wordlessly, he gets out of the car, opens his son’s door and undoes his seatbelt. Atreus hops out, his whole body heaving, his fists tight at his sides. He cranes his neck, staring his colossal father in the eyes.

“Why can’t I be more like you?!”

He wants Father to yell, to be angry, to display any ounce of emotion. Instead Kratos gets back in the car, and drives away.

—

Faye parks her bike and locks it to a tree. She is relieved that the two cups of coffee in her front basket haven’t spilt too much. 

It is dark, about 11 o’clock at night and she knows that Kratos is upstairs, working hard on a model. They are a few years into Project Midgard now, and the construction Jotunheim Tower has just been completed. The other skyscrapers in their CBD are not too far behind and much to Faye’s excitement, it won’t be long until fitout.

Faye takes the coffee and uses her ID to tap into the tower. She crosses the empty lobby to the lifts, grinning. Her mind consistently ticks with ideas when she is within these walls and she is always glad to visit.

Floor 93, says the message on her phone screen, and she punches in the corresponding button on the elevator panel. She has to catch herself as the elevator starts to rise. No matter how many times she rides in this thing, she is never prepared for how fast it is. The doors open, and she follows the soft light that comes from one of the unclad offices. 

Inside, and across the spacious room is Kratos, deep in concentration. He had brought up a desk, a chair and a lamp to create a makeshift study for himself, but the space is otherwise bare. 

He often retreats here to avoide the bickering of Brok and Sindri, in an attempt to work in peace. The brothers have been in some sort of argument for the past year and it is enough to drive anybody mad. Luckily for the rest of the company, Kratos has no room for nonsense and has been able to at least keep them focussed.

Faye crosses the floor to her coworker, he does not yet seem to be aware of her arrival. 

Their partnership had started off quite aggressively, each in committed competition with the other. They would butt heads to no end, never seeing eye to eye on the other’s designs. However, the past two years have been different. Although still competing, they have slowly developed some sort of strange, mutual attachment. They banter all too regularly, but not without a few lingering touches and stolen glances threaded between their insults. They work supremely together, and despite the Huldra brother’s current dispute, the company has never been more on track.

She places his coffee on the desk and sits herself on the surface next to it, sipping at her own.

“I thought you’d be finished by now,” She says coily. Her blue eyes pass over the intricate balsa model that depicts what is to be the first shopping complex of their entertainment district. She watches his hands, amazed every day by how something so large and rough could so easily create something so delicate and detailed. Faye wasn’t sure at first, but has been convinced for a while that Kratos really is the best at what he does.

“That is the assumption of a hasty women with no pride in her work.” Is his reply, his voice is calm and deep, and has become something of comfort to Faye during her illness. She chuckles and runs a hand over a large, bound wrist.

“So are you going to thank me for the coffee, or what?” 

“No.” Kratos’ eyes drift from his work to the woman in front of him and he leans back in his chair. He takes the delicate hand from his wrist and weaves her fingers with his, giving her arm a tug. Faye stands as Kratos pulls her from the table, and shuffles closer to him.

Maintaining eye contact, he guides her onto his lap. Faye’s black pleated skirt rides up as she sits and her thighs frame his sides. He moves his hand to her lower back, pulling her closer. Faye rests her hands on broad shoulders. Her heart beats frantically in her chest but she welcomes his touch. 

In recent months, their hands have lingered for longer, and their glances had turned to open and shameless staring. There is a tension between them. Unspoken, but undeniably there.

Her thighs press firmly into his sides and as she rubs his shoulders, she swears that she catches the suggestion of a smile on his lips.

“For someone who has so much pride in his work, you sure are easily distracted.” She rests her forehead on his and lets out a short, nervous breath. The ends of the coloured scarf covering her bare scalp hang down beside their faces, tickling them both lightly. 

Kratos, with one hand at her waist, the other on her thigh, rolls his hips up, just once as an invitation. 

“How are you so sure that it is not my work that distracts me from you?” He hums into her ear. His breath is hot on her skin and sends shivers down her spine. 

She wants to call him out on his lame comment, but is too distracted by his lips on her neck to find the words. They trail downwards and settle where her loose linen shirt meets her shoulder, and he takes her skin between his teeth, beard scratching into her exposed collarbones.

Faye’s back arches and she grabs at his back as he sucks, her fingers digging in to raw muscle. She pushes her hips downwards, immitating his previous motion.

At this, Kratos stands and lifts Faye effortlessly onto his wooden desk. He pushes his model aside before lowering her onto the smooth surface, holding her arms firmly above her head. She wraps her legs around his waist and as she pulls him in, Kratos closes the gap between their lips. His tongue flicks into her open mouth and as he rocks into her, Faye can feel every inch of him, firm through their clothing. Their mouths and bodies move in sync and as they kiss, Faye notices that Kratos acts not aggressively, like she had expected, but passionately. 

How she managed to coax any such behaviour from this normally callous man is beyond her knowledge, but her eyes roll back as a hand travels up her inner thigh and she decides not to think too hard about it.

—

Atreus’ vision is clouded as he marches into the school grounds. He crosses the gravelled courtyard where his classmates are playing before class, ignoring their invitations for him to join. He is tense, his fingers are blue from clenching his fists too tightly and his teeth have pushed through the sides of his tongue.

“Good morning, Atreus!” Ms Freya greets. He doesn’t even hear her as he passes. “Class is starting soon!” She calls after him, not quite sure if she should be concerned.

He approaches the male toilets, where Magni and Modi are picking through a little girl’s lunch box. They see him coming and probably would’ve had a go at him, but Atreus doesn’t give them the chance. 

“Get out out of my way!” He growls. He violently shoves through them with a sharp elbow, and into the bathroom. He slams the door behind him and there are probably other students in here, but he is feeling too much anger to notice or to care. He throws his backpack onto the bench and begins to toss the insides onto the damp floor below him. He rummages through until he has found what he’s looking for.

He pulls his hand out, and clasped tightly in his little fingers is Father’s knife. 

He focuses on his reflection, sickly and small. He had always wanted to look more like Father and hates that they haven’t got a single feature in common. Atreus, the embodiment of weak, and his father, strength. The hair was a start, but it wasn’t enough. 

He looks down to the knife and hesitantly brings it to his arm. His wrist is frail, skin and bones. 

He experimentally pokes at his skin and flinches, the blade is sharp and pierces instantly. He takes a deep breath and pushes it down once more, at the top of his wrist, and slowly pulls down the length, towards his palm. His skin peels open and the red bleeds out. It hurts.

But it feels good.

Atreus forgets about his sickness. He forgets about Mother. He can feel only the knife in his skin.

He looks back to his reflection and his rage swells. He hates what he sees. 

Before he knows it, he is slashing at his face, crying out. His tears are salty, stinging the lines cut into his otherwise innocent features. His reflection is red and he is still not content. 

Breathing heavily and consumed by adrenaline, Atreus begins to carve the outline of his father’s tattoo with a shaky hand. The skin splits, satisfyingly, and blood continues to cascade, into his eyes, his mouth. 

The pain makes him dizzy but he bets Father would be proud of him for enduring it. 

He is nearly finished when he hears shouting, and the door bursts open. His knife slips into his lower cheek at the shock, and then drops to the ground.  
He crouches to pick it up when he realises that the floor, his clothes, everything is covered with blood. 

He is delusional. The walls around him spin as he is lifted from the floor. Although his face is burning and he’s not quite sure where he is, his anger begins to relent. 

He had wanted to become more like Father, and as far as he’s concerned, that’s what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: as if I’m not a bad enough person for writing this scene, I also drew it :’|  
> Check out poor little bloodied Atreus on my DeviantART: https://www.deviantart.com/captaindishwasher/art/Atreus-752365829  
>  
> 
> Weeeeeelll. Monkey see monkey do?
> 
> I can explain. :o
> 
> I noticed that some of the scars on our boy’s face are in the shape of Kratos’ tattoo. I read somewhere that they could from his illness, but the resemblance is too uncanny to have happened naturally. And I refused to believe that it’s a birthmark like I’ve seen suggested, cause obviously tattoos are not hereditory, and unless Deimos is going to have some part in the new games it would feel irrelevant for Atreus to have inherited them from him. 
> 
> I don’t think it’s a hidden fact in the game that Atreus feels unloved by his father, and I always wondered if the scars were self inflicted, to try and impress him? But I’m pretty sure that Barlog has said in an interview that they intentionally didn’t explain them, and that the cause might be explored in future games.
> 
> Anyway I struggled with the dialogue A LOT in this one, and I’m still not too thrilled with it so might still make a few tweaks. I was really trying to portray Atreus being angry at Kratos for not being upset, but then being angry at himself /for/ being upset. 
> 
> Starting at ‘Brave’, I sprinkled some subtext of Atreus’ jealousy/admiration towards how strong his father is, and how weak Atreus feels in comparison. So hopefully this chapter isn’t too out of character? But now we know that Atreus pinched the knife from his dad’s bathroom when he snuck in before visiting Mimir! I did sneak that in clumsily last chapter :P
> 
> We have officially passed the half way mark! Thank you everyone for 300+ views and 30+ kudos :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> reading!


	9. Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kratos makes his wife and son a promise.

Faye watches the stars, her bare body exposed to the moonlight, arms spread out in the icy grass beneath her. Her legs are hooked over the shoulders of her lover and, as of that evening, her husband, as he pleases her. 

It’s one of the coldest nights of the year, yet here they are unclothed, in the middle of a paddock. This wasn’t their intention Kratos had been driving Faye to her wedding gift when the trip became a little too steamy, and Kratos had insisted that they pull over. 

“Maybe Hawaii?” Faye asks between shallow breaths. Her fingers dig deep into the soil, beads of sweat gathering where her back rises off the ground.

They have not yet decided on a location for their honeymoon, but can at least agree that they need to go somewhere warm to escape this dreaded winter. “What about Bali?” 

Kratos grumbles between her legs, his mouth too occupied to answer. She’ll take that as a ‘maybe’. 

She quietens, allowing the sensation of the man between her thighs take over her. It isn’t long before she is seeing stars, figurative ones now, and her legs tighten involuntarily around her love as she calls out to him. Kratos is a perfectionist, after all, and she is almost disappointed that she hadn’t lasted longer. She is still breathless and trembling when her husband crawls back up her body, collapsing at her side. He nudges into her neck and plants a salty kiss under her ear.

“Greece?” Faye smirks into his forehead once she has settled. Kratos props himself up and stares at her, absolutely deadpan.

“No.”

“Hm, well it was worth a try.” She laughs. 

Kratos rises, and lifts his beloved to her feet. Even when she stands on her toes, he still has to lean down to join their lips. He pulls her close to him, naked bodies pressing together as he kisses her deeply. 

“Come,” He says as they pull apart. They walk hand in hand back to the car, scooping up their clothing as they go. Faye hops the last few metres, eager to get out of the cold and Kratos jogs to catch up, giving her rear a quick squeeze as he passes her. 

They hop in, and Faye reaches for the heater. The newlyweds dress clumsily in their seats and as quickly as they had parked, they are off again.

 

Kratos pulls into the driveway, and Faye slides out in a state of disbelief.

“A house??!” She exclaims, taking in the sight before her. “Your gift is a house!!? Kratos, this is one of your designs!” Her hands cover her mouth, she could recognise his work anywhere.  
It is the first house of Project Midgard, and alongside Brok, Kratos had constructed it entirely by hand. Sitting high on a hill, their new home has a perfect view of Jotunheim Tower, their first completed building together.  
Faye’s entire being swells with euphoria and Kratos wraps his arms around her waist from behind. She arches her neck to face him in his embrace.

“I love it.” She breathes onto his lips. She feels a small smirk against her mouth and Faye is startled when she is lifted, bridal style, their lips not parting once as they stumble inside.

The house is large and very open; a balance of steel, glass and onyx flooring. Faye is delighted that the abode has been left unfurnished, suspecting that Kratos intends for her to decorate their new home herself. 

“Upstairs,” Kratos prompts, and Faye is curious as the architect guides her. He stops a little way down the hall and at the on first door on the left. Faye peers in and gasps.

Over their years together, Faye had begged Kratos to consider children, and he would always decline. Given his past, Faye understood, and although she would still ask occasionally, she had long since accepted that theirs would be a childless relationship.

Faye is bewildered when she sees the small wooden cot before her, delicate woodland creatures carved into the sides. The realisation hits her and she turns to him, mouth gaping. Kratos takes her by the shoulders and holds her both tenderly and desperately.

“I will get it right this time,” His voice is wobbly, and his eyes are honest. His grip on her tightens and she holds her hands on his, eyes leaking. “Will you help me?”

She answers with a breathy “Yes!” and leaps into his embrace, their noses brushing together.

“We will be a family,” Kratos promises, and he swears to himself that they will be, and that he will not fail them.

—

Kratos unlocks the front door and clambers into the empty house, placing Faye’s urn on the shelf by the entrance. He tiredly drops his satchel on the ground on the way to the lounge room and collapses in a heap on the structured leather couch.

His palms find his face and he groans loudly.

“ _Maláka!!_ ” He shouts, and his eyes start to sting. He belligerently pulls up the cushions surrounding him and Greek profanities leave his mouth as he hurls them across the room. 

He is still yelling when he realises that his phone is vibrating against his thigh. He reaches into his pocket and answers the call. 

“Now what?” He asks, wearily.

His breath catches as he hears his son’s name amongst frantic words and his phone drops to the floor. Snatching up his keys, Kratos rushes for car, and the house shakes as he slams the door behind him.

 

Kratos barges into the school reception. He catches a glimpse of his son through the sick room door and is horrified at what he sees. The small boy is covered in red, his face is shredded. The intense blue of his eyes stand out against the painted skin, and they make contact with his father’s through the crowd of teachers and paramedics. Kratos desperately advances, but is roughly pulled into the office before he can get close. 

Freya closes the door behind them and pushes him into it, furious.

“Don’t you dare go near him,” She threatens, palms on his chest. “You are lucky that I haven’t called the child protection services.” Kratos slides down the door, onto the vinyl flooring and his hands meet his temples, overwhelmed.

“What happened?” He manages, through his shock.

“You have neglected that boy for too long, that’s what happened.” 

“Neglected...”

“He said that he did this to impress you! Because you’re never around, he thought it would get your attention!”

“He did this to himself?” Kratos feels sick.

“Yes he did it to himself!” She crouches down in front of him and snatches his wrist, shaking it in the space between them. “Because he saw you do it! He thinks this is normal!” She throws his arm back in his face.

Kratos is beside himself.

Freya calms down. She knows that despite appearances, Kratos isn’t a malicious man and always has the best interest of his family at heart. She sits on the floor next to him and sighs.

“What happened, Kratos?”

“He was angry this morning, I took him to pick up... Faye. He was upset because he thought I didn’t care. Freya, you must let me see him.”

“Let the medics do their job, old man. You know that Atreus struggles to control his anger. Why did you let him come to school when he was in this way?”

“I do not know... I thought he needed the distraction.”

Freya stands and extends her hand to him, he needs no assistance getting up he but takes it anyway.

“No. He needed his father. I am here to teach him, and I care for Atreus deeply, you know I do, but there is only so much I can offer a child who has just seen the remains of his mother.” Students peer through the window to get a look at the man whose son brought a knife to school. Freya shuts the blinds and they sit on a small bench, knees brushing together.

“Kratos, you need to be present. I didn’t even know that Faye had a husband until Atreus had become sick. I know you work a lot but you have always kept your distance from him, why?”

Kratos hunches over and rubs at his developing migraine. Freya leans in expectantly, and Kratos pushes out a long, trying breath.

“I had a daughter. Before Faye. Due to my negligence, Calliope and her mother were killed in a car accident. I never let myself get close to anybody again, fearing that they would receive the same fate. I isolated myself for many years. I turned to drugs, alcohol, women. I tried to end my own life. When I failed, I took it as a second chance and returned to work. I met Faye, but now... It’s happening again. Atreus is cursed just by being my child. I’ve lost everybody I have ever loved and I cannot lose him too.” 

“So you think that by pushing him away, you are sparing him? Is that it?” Kratos says nothing. It sounds a lot worse when she puts it that way. Freya goes white in disbelief and slaps him across the face. 

“That is so selfish! I am sorry about your family, truly, but that boy out there has been to hell and back! Atreus has cancer and he believes you think he is weak because of it!” She grabs his arms, nodding at the bandages. “And this needs to stop. I don’t care what kind of pain you’re in, this is not the kind of example your boy needs. You are all he has left. Be strong for him.”

Freya is visibly stressed. She is furious at the man but can understand his history. She puts a hand on his knee and her voice softens.

“It gets better, Kratos. It does. Did I tell you that I had a son, too? He was taken from me, years ago.” Kratos looks at the woman, perplexed. He had never considered her past. Freya’s eyes are distant, and full of sorrow.

“He was hidden away by my abusive ex-husband. When I finally won custody, the bastard did the unimaginable and took our son’s life in a murder-suicide. It was Baldur’s first day at university. He had wanted to become a teacher, like me. I know you would never intentionally harm your son, you love him. But Odin loved Baldur with all of his heart, and it was the way he handled it that lead to their demise.” She strokes his bandages, “The thoughts you have. I know them too. But you have Atreus, and he will not leave you.” They stand and Freya hands Kratos a plastic bag, the bloodied knife inside. She gives him a sympathetic smile and gestures to the door. 

He gives her a nod before he turns the handle, stepping through. The medics have left and his son sits in the lobby alone, head hung low. On his lap is Chaurli, there are teardrops on his shell.  
Kratos approaches, hesitantly. He stops before his child and kneels, lifting his head in both hands. He is careful not to make contact with the gashes that pollute his face. Amongst the mess of cotton and tape, on the boy’s left cheek, are a series of cuts forming a shape that is very familiar to Kratos. His thumb hovers over them, hands unsteady.

_I did this to him...?_

His shoulders shake, he leans his head into his son’s chest and he cries. Not stifled sobs, but audible, anguished bellows.  
“Father, I…“ Atreus puts the tortoise aside and holds his father’s head in his lap, unsure how to react. “I’m sorry...”  
Kratos hold his son’s waist as he steadies his breathing, small hands are tight on his. He notices through swollen eyes, Atreus’ bandaged arm, mirroring his own. 

“Do not be sorry for this.” He can barely push the words out. He grits his teeth. “Let us go.” 

Kratos straightens up as Atreus puts his animal friend back into his enclosure. He holds a hand out to his son, who takes it uncertainly.

Their feet crunch in the gravel below them, but other than the sound of their footsteps, the walk to the car is silent. Both feeling as confused, exhausted and ashamed as the other.

Kratos opens the car door for his son, the front door this time, and helps him into his seat. 

“Atreus,” Kratos says his son’s name calmly.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I want you to know that I miss your mother. Every day. I want you to know that I have never felt a pain greater than when I look up from my desk to see her office, empty. I want you to know that her last words to me were, ‘Do not let him feel alone’. I have failed you both in doing just that. I will not fail you again, that is my promise.”

Kratos reaches for his son’s tiny hand, the hand that had inflicted so much damage, and holds it tightly, the whole drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 9, and thank you for coming back after that last doozy :P
> 
> Aw Freya. She is such a strong woman and knows how to give just the right balance of ass kicking. And now we know who the father and son from Mimir’s story were! :o
> 
> Also Faye’s (almost) last words whispered to Kratos from chapter one, anyone? :P I purposely left them out, knowing that Kratos would reveal them to Atreus after the ‘incident”, even though I had no idea that I would actually get this far into the story :P 
> 
> Yay for tying up loose ends! Just one more to go now, I think. I like putting in these hidden throwbacks(Throwforwards?) even if they’re not noticeable, just for the sake of things suddenly making more sense if anyone ever re-reads :P idk, I guess I just thought it would add a sense of subconscious realism?? 
> 
> Thanks for getting this far pals!


	10. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus is making progress.
> 
> Kratos’ world falls apart.

Kratos shifts under the blankets, the warmth has gone from next to him. Faye is sitting up and he slings a heavy arm over his love in a lousy attempt to keep her bedded. She struggles against him and he can hear her talking but isn’t quite awake enough to comprehend her words.

“It’s Atreus,” She repeats. “He’s up again. Let me see to him.”

Kratos rubs his eyes and they adjust to the vision of his wife slipping on a nightgown. Although he thinks she looks good in anything, he much prefers the slinky set she had worn for him only hours before. 

Thanks to his regular visits to the office gym, Kratos has the strength and stamina of a god. Faye bares the blessing of youth so keeping up with her husband in the bedroom is barely a challenge. Tonight, however, Kratos noticed that she had become very breathless, very early in. Come to think of it, Faye had seemed a little off colour all week.

But she hadn’t complained and he hadn’t questioned it.

He gets out of bed and hastily pulls on a pair of shorts. He follows his wife up the stairs, towards the familiar sound of coughing. They enter their child’s room to find Atreus on the floor, gasping. His face is blue, his neck and torso covered in scratches; a desperate attempt to rid his chest of his burning lungs. On the floor next to him is his nasogastric tube, forcefully pulled from his esophagus once again. 

Kratos lifts him as delicately as he can and Faye leads them to the bathroom, turning the shower on, hot. She closes the door and window, allowing the steam to fill the room. 

They sit together on the tiles, Atreus shaking in a ball on his Father’s lap, for what seems like forever. Faye wipes her son’s skin with a damp face towel to cool him as he splutters. His body burns.

“It’s bad,” Faye softly moves the cloth over the scratches on his chest. She sighs and leans into her beloved, her lips brushing under his beard. “You should go back to bed, you have work. I’ll sit up with him.” Kratos is silent before pressing his mouth into messy orange hair. 

“Only if you are sure.” 

Faye nods reassuringly and Kratos shifts Atreus into her outstretched arms. “I will not be far away. Do not hesitate to wake me if need be.” Kratos gives his wife’s shoulder a quick squeeze before heading back down to the master bedroom, the blue lips of his breathless son staining his mind.

—

Kratos wakes to cold feet pressing into his lower back. He shivers, then smirks to himself before quickly flipping over, grabbing his sleeping son by the ankles and lifting him into the air. 

“Aaah, stop!” Atreus shrieks, wiggling wildly. He crosses his arms over his chest, pouting as Father carries him, upside down to the loungeroom. He is flung onto the couch and lands with an “Oomph!”. Father enters the kitchen and fixes an apron around his waist.

“What was that for? I was sleeping!” Atreus whines as Kratos begins pulling ingredients out from the pantry.

“You can sleep when you are dead.” It is a saying he has lived by, but he quickly realises that although Atreus’ symptoms have been very minimal as of recent, death is still a sensitive topic in their house. “I was also sleeping. Until I was disturbed by your toes of ice.” He adds, almost playfully.

A fortnight has passed since the incident at school, and Atreus’s physical wounds have begun to heal. Mentally, he is still uneasy, and has been withdrawn from classes once again. He knows that he will be able return when he is better, and he looks forward to it every day. 

With both of them home, they have been seeing an awful lot of each other. Father has been making an effort to be, well, fatherly, but Atreus is not used to this side of Kratos, and it frankly weirds him out. He is thankful however, and despite his rude awakening, he is feeling good. 

In a few hours he will be attending his third last session of chemotherapy and will hopefully be having his stitches removed while at the hospital. It should be a productive day.

The boy rubs carefully at his itchy scabs, making his way into the kitchen. He pulls himself onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Father is flipping pancakes and Atreus flashes him an award-winning smile. 

“Father,” He stretches the two syllables out.

“Hm.”

“Why do you cut yourself?” He hushes as soon as the words leave his mouth, unsure if that was what he was initially going to ask.

Kratos is silent as he slides a stack of pancakes into his son’s plate. He drizzles them with maple syrup and scoops a generous dollop of vanilla ice-cream right on top. 

He turns away and looks down at his bandages. They are clean; no fresh wounds. He takes a deep breath.

_I have nothing more to hide._

“I don’t, anymore.” He begins. He walks around the bench and takes a seat next to his son, who is demolishing his breakfast. “I started because I needed a distraction from the pain I was feeling.”

“So, you do feel pain!”

“Yes, unfortunately. And the pain I inflicted on myself was enough to take my mind off it. However, it became an addiction.” He begins to unravel the dressings. Atreus looks over from his plate, Father’s scars are so much more brutal in daylight, there is not a millimetre of skin without a scar.

“Whoa...” 

“What I did was foolish. It is a dangerous, terrible habit and I am sorry that I exposed it to you. You did not deserve that... I am sorry for the confusion and anger that it caused.”

Atreus is silent. They hadn’t really addressed his outburst, much less what had happened after it.

“I didn’t mean to,” Atreus pushes his plate away. “I just wanted to be strong, like you. I thought that you weren’t upset about Mother, and I was upset that I was. I thought if I could withstand the pain, like you did, that maybe I could break the curse.”

“Son,” Kratos pushes the plate back in front of Atreus. He is going to finish those damn pancakes. “You are not cursed. You are just sick, and you cannot help that. I regret what I said, and never meant for you to think you were weak because of it.” Atreus picks at his food.

“You are the strongest person I know. Not weak, not cursed.”

Atreus has to force a laugh, but he feels a weight lift from his shoulders.

—

Kratos wakes to the sound of coughing. He has a quick, cold shower and dresses for work. He makes his way to the kitchen where Faye is pacing, rocking Atreus in her arms. Kratos is stunned when he sees the state that his wife is in.

In the few hours that he had been asleep, Faye had deteriorated dramatically. Her skin had become yellow, her eyes are puffy and dull. Her body shakes and her skin is wet.

She sees her husband and quickly hands their son to him. Kratos accepts and rests the boy on his hip and reaches out his vacant hand out to feel Faye’s forehead. He quickly withdraws when he feels the heat and looks at her in shock when she waves him away.

“I just need to freshen up, then I will take him to chemo. Keep rocking him, please. It’s keeping him calm.” She mumbles, and almost walks into a wall.

“Nonsense.” Kratos says softly. He takes her shoulder and gives her a light push in the direction of their room. “You will go straight to bed. I will take him.”

 

Kratos gets out of the car and opens the back door. His son has vomited on the back seat and is trembling violently, coughing with every breath. He realises now that this cannot be just a mere chest infection, and carries him through the hospital as quickly as the busy halls will allow.

Soon, Doctors Skoll and Hati are ushering them into the Intensive Care Unit, and Kratos fears the worst. He is brought to a halt at the entrance of what is to be is Atreus’ room- only doctors allowed while he is this ill. 

He paces for hours outside the window, glancing every few seconds at his son’s now unconscious body. Anxiety swallows him whole.

It has been half a day when the doctors finally emerge. They don’t look hopeful.

“It’s Bacterial Pneumonia,” Says Hati, taking off her glasses and mask. “Both lungs are hugely inflamed and contain copious amounts of fluid.” She pauses and looks to Skoll for support.

“It’s quite severe. You might want to have Faye come in.” Skoll finishes for her.

Kratos looks at them, puzzled, wounded. “What is that meant to mean? It is a chest infection, no? He will recover?” 

“Yes, it is a chest infection. But Atreus is already fighting T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia, in his blood, bone marrow and his lymph nodes. His thymus is enlarged so he already struggles to breathe. He is anaemic and malnourished... His body is giving up. I’m sorry Kratos,” Skoll puts a hand on the desperate father’s shoulder. “It’s not looking good.”

Kratos can not form words. He can not understand what he has just been told yet it was spelt out to him as clear as day. 

Atreus stirs in his bed, and only few peaceful moments pass before he is vomiting and coughing, once again. The doctors rush into the room to aid him and Kratos’ has to hold the wall to keep himself from collapsing.

Clumsily, he reaches for his phone and calls his love, heartbroken and terrified. 

What he hears on the other end means the end of his world, and he is back in the car within minutes.

—

“Atreus! You’re looking well!”

Atreus strolls into the therapy room, beaming, and possibly on a little sugar high from his breakfast. 

“Thanks, Doctor Skoll! Check out these badass scars!” 

“Boy!” Kratos quickly puts an embarrassed hand over his son’s mouth. The doctors purposefully had not mentioned them, having noticed the resemblance between the wounds and his father’s tattoo. But here he is, bringing them up anyway. 

“Two more sessions after this, how do you feel about that?” Skoll changes the subject as he begins taking his blood. 

“I honestly didn’t think I would last this long.” Atreus downs his usual pills. “But here I am!”

“Yes, here you are. Hold tight little one, I’ll be back with the results shortly.”

Kratos lifts his son from the chair, taking his place and repositioning him on his lap, like he had done during their previous visit.

“I can sit on my own, you know.” Atreus protests.

“I know,” Kratos lifts his son’s shirt. “But then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” He leans down and blows a raspberry on the small stomach. Father’s beard tickles, and Atreus squeals. He settles down once he’s satisfied that he’s safe from another advance and a sound that resembles a small laugh bubbles from Father’s chest.

They are starting a new book this week, Animal Farm, and Atreus has to explain to his father multiple times that no, it’s not a children’s book, before he finally agrees to read it with him. 

They are a few chapters in when Skoll returns with the results, Hati smiling behind him. They put the book down.

“You have graduated from Maintenance Therapy to Partial Remission! We’ll follow through with these last few treatments and run some tests, but it’s looking really good! You should be very proud of yourself, young man.” 

The father and son spend the following hours of therapy in a state of bliss. They are on the home stretch.

—

Faye is on the floor.

Kratos struggles to breathe as he lifts her unconscious body from the tiles. She is limp in his arms as he carries her out the door, unknowingly for the last time. 

He calls a taxi, he knows he cannot drive in this state. 

Cradling her in his lap, he strokes her, holding her as close as space will allow him to.

She is barely awake when they arrive, and she is admitted instantly.

It is revealed to Kratos that Faye had relapsed. She had been receiving treatment for the past few months but to no avail.

“She has been at Stage Four for a while now, Sir. It’s only a matter of days.” 

 

A matter of days pass, and Kratos sits in the bed with Faye, cherishing what could be his last moments with her. 

They speak about what happens after; how she wishes for them to scatter her ashes at the top of Jotunheim Tower, the building where they fell in love, where they became engaged, where they received the news so many years ago that she was cancer free, and where Atreus had taken his first steps.

She tells Kratos that she’s sorry, and struggles to explain that she couldn’t let the attention be taken away from their son, that she’s had her turn.

She takes her husband’s palm, and in it places a small wooden horse. It is not as precise as her previous carvings; her illness is visible within the grain.

“Give this to him, he is expecting it,” She pleas. “He must be so scared without me. Do not let him think he has been forgotten,”

She can feel her last ounces of strength as they leave her.

“Do not let him feel alone.”

 

Kratos runs, delirious, through the halls. He does not know how many people he has knocked over. He does not care. He must get to his son. 

He is stopped at the entrance to ICU -this has become routine over the past days- and is informed that Atreus is still too unfit for visitors. He slams his fists on the wall in the epitome of frustration.

“Hati, please. Give this to him, from his mother.” Kratos is begging. “Tell him, goodbye, from her.”

Kratos isn’t sure if the doctor has left or not, and he is on his knees, head in his arms, face to the floor. He’s burning up, his vision is red. He is not fit to raise this boy. He cannot do this. Atreus deserves better. Kratos does not realise it, but his blood curdling screams echo throughout the halls, as six words echo within his mind.

_It should’ve been me, not her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe. Here we have Kratos’ perspective of chapter one and two. Poor Atreus thought his Father hadn’t cared about him. Our guy Kratos is better than that, though.
> 
> Also our boy is getting better <3 and some long awaited father/son time :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!


	11. Remission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus crosses off the last day of chemotherapy from his calendar.

Atreus falls back into the recliner, his juice from earlier swishes around in the bucket on his lap. Damp clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin and he has almost caught his breath. Only moments of composure pass before his mouth fills again and he flops farward into the plastic tub, too weak to lift himself once he has finished.

A cool hand strokes his back as he struggles to keep down a third ejection, the smell of vomit and chemicals filling his lungs. Eyes screwed shut, Atreus is lifted from his mess and the bucket is removed. 

“Is that all of it?” Comes the soft voice of his mother as she wipes his face with a wet wipe. Atreus shrugs and blinks at her with tired, bloodshot eyes. She keeps the bucket close, just in case.

The hospital has been Atreus’ home for his first month of chemotherapy. By now, multiple cocktails have been fed into his tiny veins, each intending to destroy the bulk of his rapidly multiplying T-cells. Atreus has experienced every possible side effect from the medication, both phisical and emotional, and he just wants to go home. 

In his ward, his bags are already packed. Doctor Hati is the bearer of bad news and Atreus can’t believe his ears when it is explained to him that his progress has reversed, and that he will have to endure a second month of Induction. 

Maybe Father will come to visit this time, Atreus hopes, but he isn’t optimistic.

The stars flicker through the window above him and the full moon peaks between a layer of whispy clouds. At this time of night he is the only patient in the room, the rows of recliners are empty around him. He likes it this way, he likes to be sick in peace. 

The hushed murmurs of the doctors across the room interrupt his perfect silence. As much as he likes his oncologists, Atreus had learnt early on that nothing they say is ever good news, and he attempts to block out their whispers. He instead focuses on the classical pieces that play from his mother’s iPad as she draws, and he recites the names of their composers in his head. His eyes grow heavy to the vision his mother’s stylus scratching rhythmically against the screen, and consciousness drifts away from him.

—

Father’s beard blocks Atreus’ view of the small TV mounted to the roof above them, but the boy is too excited to mind. He fidgets in his bed, the hospital air cool on his bare torso. 

Kratos sits over him on the edge of the mattress. Atreus holds his hand and Kratos notices a how strong his son’s grip has become. He squeezes back.

Today Atreus was finally able to cross the last box off his calendar, and the months have flown by in a flurry of awkward fatherly advances and home cooked dinners. By now, the scabs on his face and wrist have healed into deep scars, and despite the cause of them, home is finally starting to feel like home again. 

Atreus shivers at the doctor’s cold touch as she sterilises his skin, and he bites his lip as she injects a local anaesthetic. In minutes, his chest is numb and Atreus watches curiously, and his scars tingle as she lifts a sharp surgical blade to his skin.

“Am I going to feel you slicing me open?”

“You’ll feel a small amount of pressure, but no pain.” 

Hati makes a small incision above his port and Atreus cringes as a pair of tweezers push into his skin. There is a twist, then a tugging sensation as the catheter he had learnt to live with is pulled gently from his body. She passes Doctor Skoll the bloodied tubing and wipes the discharge from Atreus’ skin.

“Is my vein going to bleed out? Will you need to stitch it up inside?” 

“There may be a small amount of bleeding, but fortunately veins are a low pressure system, so the tissue will just collapse down and close it off.”

She stitches up the small gash and fixes a dressing over the reddened area. Atreus wonders if this will become a scar, too. Hati puts down her tools.

“All done. Atreus, you are officially Remissed.”

And suddenly, the weight he has carried for the worst two years of his life has been lifted.

He would’ve done a black flip if he hadn’t been feeling so queasy from his final treatment, but he is ecstatic nonetheless. Kratos, also ecstatic, rises from his seat on the bed and gives the doctor what was meant as an appreciative slap on the back. Atreus holds back a snigger.

“I’ll miss you both so much,” He says, pulling his shirt back on. “But it’s a good thing that I don’t have to see you as often, right?” Hati smiles and pats Atreus on his beanie.

“That’s right, but you will still be seeing us for your monthly checkups. Just keep in mind that until you have been in remission for five years, we can’t guarantee that you are officially cured. These check ups will confirm that you remain clean. But you have recovered from something truely terrible and you should be very proud of yourself.”

Atreus crosses his arms. Skoll gives Hati a playful push.

“Doctor Hati is a buzzkill, but she’s right. It is certainly not worth worrying about, though. Your tests show no evidence of disease, you should be celebrating!”

Atreus thanks them for bringing him back from the dead, and gives them both a hug. Kratos gives each doctor a firm handshake, and they are off.

 

All four windows are rolled down and Kratos blasts music from the car’s speakers. Atreus can not see so well through the beard, but he swears that Father is smiling.

Atreus takes off his beanie and pushes himself up in his seat. Leaning out the window, the wind gushes over his scalp and he lets out a howl of joy. Kratos is truely grinning now, and begins honking the horn, Atreus hollering next to him.

“My boy is cancer free!” Kratos yells out the window.

“Yeah! I’m cancer free, bitches!”

“Atreus!”

“Sorry.”

They laugh hysterically as they are gripped by an unfamiliar feeling of euphoria, and Atreus only settles when he realises that they have made a wrong turn.

“You went the wrong way,” He laughs.

“I did not. I am taking you to pick out your gift. Doctor Skoll is right, we must celebrate.”

“You’re getting me a present??”

Atreus is gasping when he realises they have pulled over in front of a pet shop.

“You’re getting me a pet?!” His body is practically vibrating when Kratos instinctively helps him out if his seat. Atreus had always wanted a pet, but growing up with a poor immune system, and then with cancer, he was always just too unwell. Father has a fish tank in his office, but that doesn’t count. 

Kratos recognises the effect that Freya’s creature has on his son, managing to calm the boy not once, but twice after his anger got the better of him. Now that Atreus is healed, he will have more energy than he can manage and having an animal on standby might not be a such bad idea. A bell chimes as they enter the building.

“I beat cancer!” Atreus chrips to the first person he sees and Kratos puts a hand around his shoulder, pulling him close. The boy looks around giddily.

“Father, can we get a wolf?”

“Wolves are not pets. We can get a dog.”

“What about a horse?”

“We do not have the yard for a horse.”

Atreus’ jaw drops and his eyes widen as he points behind the counter.

“...What about _that_?”

—

Atreus is amazed at how his mother flies so gracefully through the air, her arrows effortlessly piercing through a series of airborne clay pots. He has been practising for four years now and it still doesn’t come as naturally to him as it does to her. He knows he is good though, and is thankful for having such a wonderful teacher in his mother.

The ground before them is showered with shards of terracotta and Faye collects her arrows.

“Your turn.” She says, her fingers find his back and she gives him an encouraging push.

Atreus steps forward, this shouldn’t be too hard. Sliding his bow off his back, he reaches for an arrow. The aluminium length between his fingers is more than familiar to him; his arrows are an extension of himself. He is confident. He knows he can do this, yet his arms shake.

He holds his compound bow out in front of him and aligns the notch of his arrow to his string. His drawing hand brushes his lips. He makes eye contact with Mother, signaling that he is ready, and pots fly above him.

He realeases, his arrow strikes through the round centre. He spots a shadow on the ground in front of him and he spins mid-air, another arrow already drawn. A second strike. His feet hit the ground and he hears a third shatter behind him. 

“Damn it.”

“Two out if three is really good for your first try, Atreus.” Faye reassures him.

“But it’s not good enough.”

His biceps are burning. He knows he is better than this and he readies another arrow. The bowstring shivers in his grasp. His elbows lock and before he realises it, his arrow is in the ground, only centemetres from his feet. He jumps back, shaken, but pulls his arrow from the earth. He readjusts.

“I can do it.” 

A pot releases and he looses his arrow. It flies straight past his target and fixes itself into a sandbag. Atreus lets out a cry of frustration. 

He had nearly had it the first time, what is wrong with him?

“It’s not my aim!” He promises, but is unsure. “My arms, I struggle, they-” He can’t find the words. His bow is unusually heavy in his hands. “My strength is just... gone.” Faye approaches her child and prys his bow from his grip. She kneels down and pulls his quaking body against her own.

“What is happening to me?”

“This is a symptom of your illness,” Faye is not a stranger to cancer generated fatigue. She pushes a strand of hair from her son’s pleading eyes. “Your leukemia eats away at you from the inside. You will find yourself weaken more and more, until you can not even tie your own shoelaces. You are a fighter, but your cancer is vicious,” She wipes a smudge of dirt from his brow. “You must cherish whatever strength you have while it lasts.” 

It is the cold truth. Atreus already knows that he is going to be sick for a long time, that was made clear after his first two months of chemotherapy. But it isn’t until now that he realises that life is going to be very different. 

—

Milky scales coil around the boy in the front seat, and his father’s face is almost as pale. Atreus whispers into his new friend’s massive, pearlescent body, and Kratos shivers when the snake hisses back.

“I had expected you to pick a dog. Or a rabbit.” His father utters, his voice dry.

“But Jörmun was calling me! I couldn’t leave without him.” And Kratos believes it. Faye had been very in touch with nature, too, and he wonders if animal whispering is hereditary.

 

They pull into their driveway and Atreus is delighted to see the Huldra brothers bickering at their front door.

“Brok! Sindri!” Atreus jumps out of the car, wearing Jörmun like a scarf.

“Awugh, look at you, the little pidgeon dropping is all healed up!” 

Brok smothers Atreus with congratulatory hugs and Sindri gives him the most affectionate pat on the shoulder that he can muster.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Your father called us with the good news, and asked if we could help build an enclosure for your, ah, thing.” Sindri gestures to the snake, shuddering.

Kratos unlocks the door and drops the pet supplies in the hall. He brings the brothers through to the living area and Atreus heads upstairs to leave them to their work.

“I’m gonna go rest in my room for a while!” He calls down. Although he is healed, the side effects of his final treatment still linger. A nap would do him good, he decides, as he brings Jörmun into his room.

They are tangled together, Atreus in and out of sleep when the familiar notes of Summer, of Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’ begin to float through the window. Blue eyes flutter open and a smile stretches across lightly freckled cheeks.

 

The last few rays of sunshine beam through the glass walls of the living room, and Kratos pulls off his oven mitts. Brok and Sindri had placed the finishing touches on their serpent sanctuary an hour ago and had left Kratos to prepare dinner for his child. 

He is placing the finishing touches on their plates when he has to call his son down for the third time. _He can’t still be asleep._

He marches up to his son’s room and knocks on the door.

“Atreus.”

He knocks again and opens the door himself when there is no answer. The room is empty. No snake. No son.

“Atreus!”

His window is wide open and Kratos sighs.

 

Mimir is cleaning out a bucket when his doorbell sounds. He opens up.

“Please tell me that my son is here.” 

Mimir studies the tattoo that crosses the tense features in front of him, and suddenly Atreus’ new scars make a lot more sense. There is no mistaking it, this man is the boy’s father. Mimir steps aside and allows his neighbour to peer through, and Kratos visibly relaxes at the sight of the familiar bundle on the couch, snake snoozing by his side.

“He’s all tuckered out. He’s had a big day, no?” Mimir joins Kratos on the veranda and takes a seat. Kratos sits too, grunting in agreement.

“He comes here often?”

“You didn’t know?” 

“I know that he enjoyed speaking with you in the backyard. He seemed happy.”

“I did what I could.”

Kratos doesn’t like that this man had offered Atreus what he couldn’t after the passing of his wife, but he is glad of the comfort he has brought the boy nonetheless.

“Kratos.” He leans forward and grasps his neighbour’s skinny arm.

“Huh? Oh, Mimir!” Mimir shakes his neighbour’s arm gladly, the scarred skin not going unnoticed. “Pleased to officially meet you!”

 

Atreus awakens, pleased that the last of his queasiness has settled. Jömun sleeps in a peaceful spiral and Atreus lifts him carefully into his shoulders. He stands and takes an experimental step. No weakness, no shortness of breath. 

His ears prick up the sound of laughter coming through the front door, Mimir and... Father?

He makes his way through the hall and is surprised to see that his father is actually getting along with another human. The men are knee deep into one of Mimir’s stories, and Atreus can recognise a faint enjoyment through his father’s poker face.

“Boy, you are awake.” Kratos stands abruptly. 

“You found me!”

“I thought you had been eaten by your serpent.” Atreus bursts into a giggle. “Come, your dinner is ready.”

They say goodbye to their neighbour and go back inside, Atreus childishly dragging his feet. Sitting on the kitchen counter are two plates of beef steak, marinated with home made plum sauce and cooked to perfection. The meat is finely sliced and organised over a bed of crisp vegetables and rice.

Kratos has almost finished his serving when he notices that Atreus has barely touched his own, and is pushing the food around the plate. Kratos scrunches his brows, it’s not like his son to be fussy.

“What is the matter, boy?” 

Atreus shrugs, nonchalant. “It’s cold.” 

“It was hot when I called for you. Eat.” Atreus makes a face and Kratos stands, begrudgingly microwaving his son’s dinner. He slides it across the breakfast bar and returns to his own food. He is too tired for this.

“ _Eat._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Remission! :D
> 
> The song they listen to in the car is ‘The dog days are over’ by Florence + The Machine. Super fitting and I think it suited the mood :)
> 
> This chapter is one of two parts. I just had a lot of notes for this chapter and there is a slight shift in the middle so I thought splitting it into two made sense. (There is a taste at the end of this chapter for what that shift is? It happens in the game too, so it probably won’t be too hard to figure out :P) But this also means there will now be 16 chapters! :D 
> 
> And yay, Jörmungandr! I shortened it just to make it slightly more modern, but it’s still the same big ol’ lump of scales we know and love. He was actually meant to turn up a lot earlier, specifically after Kratos and Freya’s talk after Atreus’ episode, but it felt too squeezed in and I really wanted Kratos’ own scars to be addressed before they went pet shopping. I didn’t want it to feel like Kratos was all ‘I stuffed up, have a pet’ :D so I think I avoided that.
> 
> Anyway part 2 is half way done so you can expect it shortly. Thanks for reading!!!


	12. Resignation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus is confident.
> 
> Kratos is apprehensive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *suggested self harm right at the end*

Kratos looks through the window as Atreus endures yet another physical examination. He has lost count of how many times his son has been poked and prodded, and he honestly believes that lab rats suffer less. Faye taps him lightly on the shoulder and hands him a coffee. His eyes close as he takes a sip, the bitter mixture warming his insides.

“Doctor Hati wants to speak with you,” His beloved says quietly. Kratos knows from her expression that whatever the doctor has to say can’t be good. His son has rapidly worsened, it pains him to admit. It’s always been bad, but the child can no longer stand unassisted, needing to be pushed in a wheelchair or carried to his many appointments. He can not dress himself and also relies on a nasogastric tube to feed him. His skin is grey and dry, bruises clustering every joint of his tiny body. 

It takes all of Kratos’ strength to tear his eyes from his son. He knows he is safe with Faye, but he is near the end, and if anything were to happen while he is gone...

“Thank you for coming,” Doctor Hati greets as the distressed father takes a seat at her desk. “As you are aware, your son’s leukemic cells are not responding to his chemotherapy. He is experiencing very intense ostealgia, bone pains, from the overcrowding of cells and we aim to do whatever we can to bring some comfort to this boy.”

“What are you suggesting?” Kratos demands as politely as he can. He can not bare to see his son in so much pain.

“There are two options. There is a procedure that we perform typically on Recurred patients, to give them a push back in the right direction when chemotherapy is no longer effective. Doctor Skoll and I believe that a bone marrow transplant may be beneficial to your son. To perform this procedure we must implement a series immunosuppressive drugs to aid his body in accepting said bone marrow. The trouble is, this will also open him up to illness and infection, something we are not sure we can risk this far along.”

“What is the second option?”

“Radiation therapy, as well as his chemotherapy. It will assist in killing off the bulk of his T-cells, and also reduce his bone pain.”

“You make this seem like an easy choice.” Kratos is suspicious.

“Radiation therapy may be sufficient in the short term, however will increase his chances of Recurring in the future. It is your call.” 

_So die now, or die later._

Kratos feels ill as his stomach ties itself into knots. Although neither of the doctor’s suggestions appeal to him, radiation therapy may be the lesser of two evils.

“Either way, I suggest you head to the donor centre for a DNA test; Family members are usually the best match for bone marrow.” Hati passes Kratos a business card. “Otherwise, Atreus may have to wait longer than he has left for partial match from the registry.”

—

The days have turned to months and Atreus is glowing. The last of his bruises have long since healed he can now brush his teeth without having to avoid the sores on his gums. His fingernails have grown back and his hands are no longer brittle. The colour has returned to his skin and his eyes are bright.

A series of tests at his recent check up confirm that he is still clean, but he already knew that. 

As far as Atreus is concerned, he is invincible.

He grins into Father’s mirror, and keeps as still as he can. Kratos stands behind him, electric razor buzzing in his hand. Strands of auburn hair fall to the bathroom floor as Kratos shaves the sides of his son’s newly grown mop.

It hadn’t taken long at all for Atreus’ unruly hair to return and the pair had decided that it was time for him to adorn a new look to accompany his recently remissed self.

While Kratos works, Atreus compares their reflections. Their marked faces match perfectly and although Atreus understands the severity of his actions, he is still proud to resemble his father.

Kratos dusts the remaining pieces from the smaller shoulders in front of him, and lathers a thick gel between his fingers. Rubbing them through his son’s fresh crew-cut, he styles the front into a small peak. Atreus crosses his arms smugly. He likes what he sees.

“Ready to go?”

“Yup!”

Atreus quickly pulls on his new pair of Nikes and swings his gym bag over his shoulder. He flicks a frozen mouse into Jörmun’s enclosure and follows his father out the door. Only days after his final treatment, Atreus had begun bursting at the seams with energy and Kratos suddenly had his hands full. He only had to turn his back for a second, and his child would be doing cartwheels on the roof.

Just like any confused, single father would, Kratos began bringing his son along to the office gym to tire him out. Atreus gladly agreed to tag along and after watching Kratos, he quickly figured out a workout routine for himself. He loves training with his father, he loves their time together and loves growing stronger. He has become addicted to the burn of a workout, and pushes himself harder every day.

After a quick warm up on the rower, Atreus heads to the sled track and Kratos begins loading it with weights. 

“More.”

“Boy.”

“I said more.”

Kratos adds a 20kg plate to both sides and lifts an eyebrow.

Atreus wipes his hands on his shorts and grips the bars. He tightens his abdomen and with a grunt, he starts to push. He is almost at a sprint and Kratos is startled at his son’s sudden burst of speed and power. He hadn’t expected him to even move the sled, let alone run with it.

Atreus reaches the end of the track and shakes his arms out in front of him, welcoming the throb. Kratos lifts off his son’s weights and replaces them with four 50kg discs.

“This is how it’s done, boy.” 

Atreus watches in awe as his father pushes the 200kg sled. He jogs to catch up and jumps onto the front of it, yipping in amusement.

“You’re really strong!” He compliments as his Father reaches the end.

“I was just warming up.”

 

Atreus is using the seated leg press, music blasting into his ears when Kratos approaches, showered and dressed. He lifts his son’s headphones and pushes them down to rest around his neck.

“I am going upstairs now. I will be back on my break. Do not push yourself too hard while I am away.”

“Yeah, okay.” Atreus lifts his headphones back to his ears and Father pushes them down once more.

“Do not lock your knees, boy.” Kratos reminds. He leaves one of Atreus’ favourite protein bars on the ground next to the machine and heads to the elevator.

 

Another day at the gym done and dusted, and although he is exhausted, Atreus is still full of pep. He is dressing into his pyjamas when something in the corner of his room catches his eye. His bow, a gift from his mother, hangs on the back of his door, waiting for the day that Atreus is strong enough to use it again. For many months, it had gone unnoticed by him. He had been so confident that he was going to be sick forever.

He lifts it carefully, it is much lighter than he remembers. He reaches into his quiver for an arrow and threads the knock experimentally into his bowstring. He takes a deep breath and pulls the arrow towards him. His arms do not tremble, his aim is steady. Picking a target, he exhales sharply and the arrow flies through the window, right into the eye of the topiary dragon in Mimir’s garden.

He’s still got it.

He strokes the tattoos on his forearm, his mother’s runes had certainly kept their promise. 

—

Kratos has only been at work for a few hours when his phone begins to buzz on his drawing board. All it takes is a few short words from his son’s teacher and he is sprinting from his office to the elevator. Pressing the silver button violently, he can feel Brok’s eyes on him from across the lounge. The builder’s voice reaches his ears but in this moment he has forgotten his second language and the words do not make sense. All he can focus on his getting to his son. Finally, the doors open and he begins his descent to the carpark.

 

It is not long until Kratos returns, his child at his side. The office is full, his coworkers crowd around in the foyer. Atreus is fine, save for a few bumps and bruises, and they let out a collective breath of relief. Brok is still prattling on and Kratos pushes him aside. His head is pounding and a co-owner or not, Brok isn’t helping.

He absentmindedly gestures for his son to wait in the lounge, and heads towards what was until recently, his wife’s office. Day in and day out, Kratos looks up from his desk to see her belongings, exactly where she had left them. A consistent reminder of her absence. He has had enough.

He enters and his fingers feel instinctively for the small watering can that sits in the corner. Sprinkling water over the scattered pots of greenery, like he has so many times before, he looks around the deserted space. 

And the memories hit him like a bullet.

The watering can drops to the tiles as he braces himself on the door frame. The arguments they had withstood, the many late nights, the slow but sure development of their friendship and their eventual love. It feels like only yesterday. Kratos takes a few moments to compose himself, then he begins to pack.

He starts with her industrial styled bookshelf. It is stuffed messily with computer cables, mock up furniture models and scraps of fabric. He places each item tenderly into a cardboard box. Amongst the mess is a single photo of himself, his beloved, and their son, taken on Atreus’ last birthday before he was diagnosed. It was one of the only birthdays they had spent together as a family, and Kratos recalls how excited his son had been for him to have taken the day off work. 

He holds the photo close to his chest as it rises and sinks inconsistently. He misses desperately the days when there were three. He curses himself for being at work for most of them and wishes more than ever that he could turn back time. He places the last of the items into the box and tapes it up.

Tracing the dusty surface of Faye’s desk, his fingers wonder over her neglected graphics tablet. Sitting in the middle is a pile of envelopes and home improvement magazines. Kratos had forgotten that Faye had started receiving both of their mail while he had been away on site, and wonders if he had missed anything important. He knows that most of their bills are emailed so he isn’t too concerned. 

He sifts curiously through Faye’s subscriptions, recognising her designs throughout. She had managed to make quite the name for herself. 

At the bottom of the pile is a single envelope, letters reading “Blódbankinn” in red on the front.

 _The test results._ He had forgotten all about them.

Although Kratos had sent his DNA off to be evaluated, he and Faye had decided together that opening their son up to further illness was just too high of a risk. Atreus began receiving radiotherapy immediately, and it was to their great relief that his cancer finally started to respond. Although the t-cells still festered, they were no longer advancing and the treatment was enough to push his body into Maintenance.

They hadn’t thought twice about the results after that.

—

Three clay pots shatter mid air and fall to the ground.

“Again! More this time!” 

Six fire. Atreus hits them all without breaking a sweat. 

“Faster!”

Again, all of them. He lowers his bow. 

“This is too easy.” 

“Yes Atreus, we’re just testing your skills to see where you fit in with the other students. Even though you have missed a lot of training, you seem to be quite a few years ahead of your age group.”

“I know I am. How many more of your tests do I have to do, Tyr?” His instructor, and good friend of his mother sighs and looks through his clip board.

“Since you are so keen, I can slot you in with the young adults for now. We will look more thoroughly into your skill level as we go.” Atreus smiles at the other kids in the arena as he is lead out. Tyr should’ve know better than to group him in with _them._

As they walk through the mirrored halls, Atreus is captivated by his reflection. He hadn’t really paid attention to his body since being remissed, but he notices now that all of his workouts and dinners with Father are starting to pay off.

He has put on a healthy weight and his face is no longer a nest of sunken features. His shoulders peek out from his black, sleeveless hoodie, but they are no longer the bony little edges that he had gotten so used to. His arms are still slim, but are toned, his biceps bulge without him trying. He looks like a strong, healthy kid. Atreus quickens his pace to catch up with Tyr.

“Your mother taught you well.”

“She taught me everything she knew, she was the best.” He drags his bow behind him until they reach the next arena. He spots Mimir in the glass cubical above them and waves.

 

Kratos takes a seat next to his neighbour and passes him a bottle of water.

“How is he?” The architect has just come from work. Huldra Incorporated are almost finished with their longest ever running project and Kratos had been working hard against a yet another deadline. Mimir had volunteered to take Atreus to his first day back at archery and Kratos wasn’t going to argue. 

This is their first visit without Faye, and Kratos hadn’t been prepared for the bucket of isolation that had poured over him as he walked through the doors. He feels terrible for being so late and can only hope that his son has been coping without him.

“Oh, he’s fine!” Mimir is confident in this statement. “He’s been giving the teacher a bit of lip, but his skills are second to none!” 

Kratos leans forward in his seat and notices that his son has already been grouped in with the adults. 

“As long as he is feeling alright.” Kratos remembers the long hours in these seats, watching the two most important people in his life do what they love most. He remembers clearly the day that his son could no longer hold his bow steady, and how devistated the boy had been. He frowns.

“The lad might be feeling a little too good, if you ask me!” Mimir gestures to Atreus, who is now flexing for a couple of young ladies. Kratos chuckles.

He had indeed noticed a change in his son’s behaviour, but Atreus had spent so much of his life thinking he wasn’t good enough, the scars on his cheeks remind Kratos of that every day. He watches as his boy effortlessly splits an arrow down the centre with another.

“You do not know the extent of what he has been through. There is nothing wrong with a little confidence.”

“Fair point, brother.”

 

Engine still running, they pull over outside Mimir’s house.

“Thanks for catching the bus in with me, Mimir!”

“Aw, laddie, anytime!” 

Atreus waves out the window as they drive off, stomach rumbling. Kratos had promised his son that he would take him out for burgers to make up for missing his first practise, and Atreus had agreed that it was a fair trade.

 

Fairy lights and decorative plants hang from the roof, and the luminescent signage mounted to the brick wall besides them bathes their skin in a soft, red glow. Waitresses scurry around the tables, plates balancing hazardously in their experienced arms and Atreus watches each of them hopefully as they pass. The pair sit opposite each other in a booth and Kratos has to lean in, gesturing to the boy that he hadn’t heard him.

“I said, you like Mimir!”

“I tolerate Mimir. I like that _you_ like him.”

“Sure.” Atreus rolls his eyes, he knows his father better than that. It has been half a year since Faye’s passing and he thinks it would be nice for him to have a friend. 

Kratos reaches over the table and gives his son a light shove, reading his mind.

“You shot just like her today.”

“No, I shot better than her.” Atreus swishes the water around in his glass. 

Kratos debates internally whether or not to challenge that response, but decides against it. He clears his throat.

“I wanted to tell you something, boy.” Atreus looks up from his glass. “Before I left work to collect you from practise, I spoke with Brok and Sindri. As of the end of Project Midgard, I am resigning.”

Atreus squints at his father. “What for?”

“I know I do not speak of her often, but I mourn your mother every day. I can no longer return to the office where she is not.” He takes his son’s hand over the table. “And I miss you, son. I have worked too long and hard on this project and since before you were born, it has consumed me. I used it as a distraction from my past and more recently, a distraction from you. It was selfish of me to not be there when you needed me most, before and during your sickness. To this day, it is my biggest regret.” His thumb travels up the inside of his son’s wrist, along the self inflicted scar imbedded deep into his skin. Atreus pulls away. “Who is it who taught you how to read?”

“Mother.”

“And who taught you to ride a bike?”

“Mother.”

“And who didn’t take you to your first day back at archery?”

“You.”

“I have shut myself out of your life for too long, and I am tired, and I am hurting. It is time for me to take time to heal, and to be with you.”

Kratos is waiting anxiously for a response, a complaint, anything, when burgers the size of their heads are placed in front of them. He thanks the waitress and has to nudge his son under the table, prompting him to do the same. Atreus looks to his father, boredom across his scarred features, and says nothing. Kratos thanks her again, on his son’s behalf. 

“What was that?“ He questions as she leaves.

“I’m not going to thank her for her slow service.”

“The food took a while to prepare, that is no fault of hers.”

“Whatever.” Atreus replies, mouth full, and Kratos chooses not to push it.

—

The architect sits on the edge of his bed, head pounding in his hands. Enclosed in the envelope on his lap are the results that will tell him whether or not he is a potential bone marrow donor for his son. Although Atreus is seemingly on the mend, his recent experience with pneumonia has Kratos shaken to the core. All it would take is one more brush with illness, and Atreus could be lost to him.

He rubs his face as stress seeps through his pores, his headache nagging deep behind his eyes. What if he isn’t a match? What if his fragile son falls ill once more, and he can do nothing to save him?

A deep guilt spreads throughout him. He holdes envelope tightly but he cannot bear to open it. 

The toilet flushes upstairs, the sound of Atreus suffering from his chemotherapy is familiar, but not any less heart-wrenching.

He walks into the ensuite, envelope in hand. His finger slips below the tab and fumbles there, stalling. He pushes under the adhesive lightly before quickly throwing the paper down next to the sink. It is too much. He brings his fist onto the bench and a shout of exasperation escapes him. He cannot do this, not without Faye.

_I am weak. A coward._

His arms start to tingle and he strokes at his bandages, desperate for relief. Uncoiling the wrappings, he reaches into the draw under the sink as he has done countless time before. The flushing upstairs has stopped.

For a moment, the thought that this act of fragility could come back to haunt him flickers through his mind, but the pain is intoxicating and Kratos gives in to the high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I didn’t mean for this chapter to be so LONG and have like nothing happen :P but here you go! And to think that this chapter and last chapter were gonna be combined!!!! There is still heaps I didn’t fit into this part that will have to wait for chapter 13, but I think that works out fine.
> 
> Atreus is starting to get a little bit of attitude now. Being healthy going to his head? Built up resentment for his father? BOTH? Neither? :P
> 
> Also here are some little sketches I did for this chapter!  
> http://captain-dishwasher.tumblr.com/post/175528808147/families-who-train-together-stay-together-3
> 
> \+ if I didn’t make it clear enough through my clumsy writing, the second and third flashbacks were Kratos’ POV of ‘Scars’, just a little bit of back story. If anyone picked up on the envelope way back then (I only mentioned it once real quick), well done! Now you know what it was :P
> 
> It is late and I am tired and have not 100% proof read this but here you go :P will probably make some tweaks once/fixed the typos I missed in the morning :)
> 
> If you’re still here at chapter 12, thanks for your support and thank you for reading!!!


	13. Insubordinate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus loses control.

The afternoon sun glistens off Jörmun’s iridescent scales, the creature hanging fondly from the body of his young master, and Atreus has to shield his eyes. His shoulders peak out from his tank top, peeling lightly from the exposure to the UV rays. His face is flushed. Beads of sweat gather in his hairline. 

It is the final day of Huldra Incorporated’s most extensive project, and Kratos has been bringing his son along to assist with the finishing touches of the rolling gardens of Alfheim, the outermost and final ring. Atreus has been relatively tame, save for a few snarky remarks and a couple of minor disagreements. He is mostly just glad to have not been left behind.

Muddy hands pat down the soil around a newly planted shrub, securing it, and Kratos slaps him on the back.

“That should do it, boy.” He pulls his son to his feet and Atreus shrugs away from his father’s touch. “Let us find the others.“

They make their way across the freshly laid grass and past one of many state of the art playgrounds, Atreus walking purposefully ahead of his father. 

On the other side of a thick wall of bamboo and nearing the entrance to Alfheim’s national park is a public BBQ area, where most of the other employees are gathered. Atreus skips over to the food and digs in, famished from his afternoon of labour.

Sindri approaches as Atreus scoffs down his third sandwich. 

“Thanks for your help out there today, little man.” Atreus wipes his hands on his gym shorts and nods, unfussed. “You’ll come to the wrap party tonight, won’t you?” 

“I don’t think I have a choice, but yeah, I’ll be there.”

“That’s the spirit! It’s going to be a great night!” Sindri literally jumps for joy. “Now, you’ll leave your ah,” He gestures to Jörmun, who is hissing softly around the boy’s neck. “Aah, pet, at home, won’t you?” 

“Yep.” Atreus rolls his eyes. He likes Sindri a lot, but his avidity can be exhausting. He grabs a fourth sandwich and heads to the car to wait for Father.

He sits in the dirt, back leant against the front tire, tossing small rocks at the car next to them. 

_It’s finally over._

Hints of relief nip at him through his gym clothes, but whispers of something else chase them away. His fist tightens around the rock in his palm and the sharp edges pierce into his skin.

Kratos comes into view, wheelbarrow filled with gardening tools and excess bags of fertiliser in tow. Atreus flings the rock into the nearby pond and jumps to his feet. He wipes the blood from his palm discreetly as he dusts himself off.

Kratos unlocks and begins to help his son into the car like he has done so many times before, when Atreus roughly pushes him away. The boy climbs into the vehicle and Kratos is tugging his son’s seatbelt over him when Atreus lets out a shout.

“Ugh! Just stop! I can do it my fucking self. I’m not sick anymore.” He pushes his father again and slams the door shut between them. He buckles himself up. Kratos lifts the tools into the trunk and joins his son in the front seat.

“Atreus, I-“

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Just, don’t.”

Kratos sighs and starts the engine.

After a painfully wordless journey, they pull up outside their house. Atreus drops Jörmun inside and Kratos sends Mimir a text to let him know that they’re out front. Atreus is back in his seat when the retiree clambers across his front yard towards them. His Hawaiian shirt is blinding. 

“Right lads! Last day done and dusted! Fifteen years in the making! How did it go?” He asks excitedly as he hops into the back.

“Fine.”

“It was fine.”

Atreus and Kratos answer simultaneously.

“...Okay...” Mimir had a whole speech thought out but makes the decision to keep quiet for the duration of the drive.

 

The shopping complex is massive, at least ten times bigger than any other Atreus had been to. The roof is high enough to house a football stadium and long, glass bridges cross between the many levels that cascade from the ceiling to the floor. Water features line the granite walls around them, giving a tranquil aura to the massive space. This building is one of many brand-new establishments that make up Asgard, the project’s entertainment district.

Not yet open to the public, the three have free reign the empty centre to hunt down two new suits for the father and son. They meander through the watery corridors, stopping at every other store to browse. Atreus has initially invited their neighbour along, but now he’s not so fussed over his company.

Mimir has made a game of picking up whatever hideous item of clothing he can find and telling Atreus how well it would suit his father. The boy sniggers the first time. The second time he forces a smile. The third, he crosses his arms and says nothing.

On their way to the next store, Mimir lets out a loud, admirative sigh.

“It’s quite the place, Brother. You truly designed this whole building?”

“Yes.”

“From scratch?”

“Yes.”

“You know, to look at you, one wouldn’t have thought you had creative bone in your body! But you’re quite good at this!”

“One would hope. It is my profession.”

Mimir bats Kratos playfully on the arm before he spots something hideously colourful across the room. He runs to grab it and Atreus throws his arms in the air.

“Ugh, enough with your stupid outfits!”

His voice echoes throughout the otherwise empty room and both men turn abruptly to face the child. Mimir raises his hands slowly, holding up his finding; a yellow Hawaiian t-shirt scattered with red plumerias and little umbrellas.

“I had just found myself a nice new shirt, is all.” He says quietly. He hangs it back on the rack and scuffs his feet across the floor. “I might leave you to it, lads. I’ll wait by the car.”

Atreus turns his back and crosses his arms as the older man exits the store and holds his posture until the footsteps down the corridor are no longer heard. He begins flicking through a clothing rack when a hand takes him by the shoulder, turning him.

“That was out of line.”

“His taste in clothes is out of line.”

“Mind your tone boy. Have I not taught you to have respect for others?! I do not approve of this attitude you have adopted as of late. And neither would your mother.”

“I bet Mother didn’t approve of you avoiding me for my whole life, either.”

Kratos loosens his grip as his child pulls away. Atreus kicks over a display and heads into the next shop, fists clenched so tightly that his wounds from earlier reopen. He squeezes harder.

They keep their distance for a while, looking through separate shops when Kratos finds his son in a ball under a table, clothes and manikins thrown across the floor. He crouches down and gently pulls Atreus out. The boy’s face is red and creased. 

“I found you a suit,” Kratos almost whispers, as if Atreus might burst if he were to speak any louder. “I hope my taste in clothing is adequate.” 

 

Atreus undresses. He notices that he has developed a light tan from the recent weeks of working in the sun, and the definition in his arms has become more evident from the manual labour. He tightens his stomach and shallow gullies cross his abdomen. His muscles are not as prominent as Father’s, but they are there. He grins, filled to the brim and spilling with ego.

He quickly pulls his ankles through the grey trousers and tugs the white dress shirt over his shoulders. He turns from side to side, eyeing himself in the mirror as he does up the buttons. He tucks the loose bits into his pants and he hates to admit it, but his father has a good eye; this is the first time anything has properly fit him in over two years. 

He slides on the grey waist coat and then the matching blazer. He wonders if Mother would recognise him if she saw him now. 

There is a tie hanging from the hook next to him. He takes between his fingers. He runs a thumb over the smooth, dark silk, careful not to smudge dried blood into the delicate fabric.

The curtain of the changeroom is drawn hastily to the side and Atreus steps out. Father is already dressed in his matching outfit and has been leaning on the counter, waiting. He straightens up when he sees his son and has to double take. Pride overcomes him.

“Son,” He kneels down before his boy. Atreus holds up the tie, unsure of how to ask for help. Kratos takes it gladly and begins to thread it through his son’s collar. “You have made a remarkable recovery.” 

“Thank you, Father.”

 

They shower. 

Atreus washes the mud from his skin, hands gliding over his freshly unfamiliar body. Nimble fingers move downwards and he checks to make sure that the door is locked.

Kratos dries, dresses into his new suit and gives his beard a light trim. He checks that Jörmun’s water is clean and calls for his son. The man walks out the front door and over to Mimir’s, and hands his neighbour a spare set of keys when he answers the door. Mimir had agreed to snake sit, in exchange for usage of their 80” TV and their Wi-Fi password. 

Kratos does a round of the house to make sure all of the doors and windows are locked, before calling for his son again. _He is taking his time._ He heads up stairs and lifts a fist to knock on the bathroom door when it opens suddenly, and Atreus pushes past, fully dressed, hair styled.

“What?” The boy asks, almost guiltily. Kratos smirks and lets it slide.

 

Atreus can feel the music in his bones. It travels through his feet from the floor, and he relaxes, allowing it to dance deep in his stomach. Father’s hand is tight on his shoulder, guiding him through the crowds of intoxicated Huldra employees. 

He settles on one of the couches in the lounge. He can barely recognise his father’s work with all of the flashing colours and dark corners in place of the usual natural light. There is a lot of dancing and a lot of grinding. Two young men begin to use his chair for support, and Atreus quickly gets up, leaving them to it. 

Father is at the kitchenette, arguing with Sindri about the spread.

“I did not eat prior because you said there would be food. This is not food.” 

“Of course it’s food! Try it, you won’t believe how good it tastes!” Sindri begins scooping various kinds of green leaves from a large, silver bowl, onto a plate for Kratos, who looks at it entirely unamused. Sindri becomes distracted momentarily and Kratos takes the opportunity to scrape the questionable contents back into where they came from. He pushes the empty plate towards the smaller man. 

“You’re right. It was delicious.” He says dryly, heading towards his son and Atreus lets out a cackle. 

“Stupid vegans!” Atreus calls out, loud enough for Sindri to hear and Kratos has to quickly pull him away.

After fifteen years, Kratos decides that he finally deserves a fucking drink and begins taking shots at the bar. Atreus watches as his father downs glass after glass, and notices slight changes in the man as the night goes on. His shoulders untense, his ever-straight posture relaxes just a little. His face softens and a smile tempts his lips. 

Brok climbs up onto the reception bench, pulling Sindri up with him. The music lowers, but not by much.

“So all you slackers are here at this dump tonight because you finally did some fuckin’ work for us two brothers.” Brok’s words slur, more than usual, and he wobbles against his brother, arm hooked over his shoulders for support.

“You have all dedicated yourselves to this company for fifteen years, and my brother and I really couldn’t have asked for a better team.” Sindri adds. The office hollers.

“Tonight, we also get rid of this son of a bitch, Kratos. Get up here you pile o’ beef.”

Kratos lifts himself onto the bench and shakes both of the brothers firmly by the hand and murmurs a private thank you. By now he has lost his jacket and his tie is loose.

“Fifteen years ago, I was fished out of an ocean of darkness by these two idiots, and I could not be more grateful. Here at Huldra Incorporated I met, married and said good bye to my beloved Faye. Over the duration of this project she fought, won, and then lost her battle with breast cancer. She lived and breathed her job and her passion for life inspired me every day. Our son, Atreus, was born into this project and is just as big of a part of Midgard as any of us are. I am very pleased to be able to tell you all that he has now been leukemia free for six months. Get up here, boy.” 

The office cheers Atreus is pushed forward. He is lifted onto the counter as Kratos pours two glasses of a deep, red liquid. He turns to his son. “This is a wine from the place and year of my birth. I have been saving it for when you were old enough, but you are more a man now than I could ever hope to be.” Atreus takes a glass hesitantly. “My brave son, I am so proud of you. You have been through so much and no matter the odds you kept fighting. I thought long ago that the gods had abandoned us, but you are living proof that they have not.”

He raises his glass. 

“To a journey’s end.”

Atreus brings the cool edge to his lips and he takes in the scent. He isn’t sure if this is what wine is meant to smells like but his father has already downed his own so it must be fine. He tips his head back and lets the warm liquid trickle down his throat. His mouth burns a little and his nose tickles but he quickly finishes the glass. 

Atreus feels himself warm up, and his insides tingle and his skin crawls, and whatever was in that bottle, he needs more of it. While Father slaps the Huldra brothers around, Atreus sneaks a refill.

The music is turned to full blast again and he rocks involuntarily, the people around him moving in slow motion. Father is at the bar downing more tiny cups and Atreus sneaks behind to where Brok is pouring them. He tugs on his sleeve.

“Hey there ya little fart. I’ve got something for ya.” The builder begins clumsily pouring all sorts of coloured liquids into a cup and blends them into a helping of shaved ice and decorative fruit peels. He tops the concoction off with a lollipop and hands it to the boy. “You ever had a cocktail before?” 

“Only the kind that gets injected into me, not the drinking kind.”

“Well! Yer a man now right? Bottoms up!”

 

Atreus, with a great effort and wobbling limbs, crosses the floor to the chair where his father is now seated. He climbs onto his father’s lap and rubs up against him. He feels like he is on a cloud, and wonders where the alcohol was during his long years of pain and weakness. He wonders why such an amazing thing was kept from him while he suffered. He is furious at the thought. 

Kratos is digging into a huge plate of ribs, having ordered Uber Eats due to Sindri’s lack of options. Sindri is carrying on about it, his voice ringing through Atreus’ ears like a bell.

“I don’t see why you had to go and spend the money when we have such a fulfilling variety here!” Sindri is saying and Kratos grunts, mouth full. Atreus slams a fist on the table between them and empty glasses on the surface shake.

“Your food sucks, Sindri!” He slides off his father’s lap, sizing up the man opposite. He wobbles and grabs the arm of the chair to steady himself. “It’s all your fault, you know.” His words string together like an afterthought.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure that I understand.” 

“You understand just fine! It’s your fault that this man and I are strangers! It’s your fault that he was away all the time. You know that he chose this stupid office over me?! When I was so close to death, he was over here making shitty model houses! For you!”

“Atreus. Calm down. I didn’t mean to-“ 

“Oh! Yes, you did!” Atreus knocks a glass from the table and Sindri jumps to his feet.

“Atreus, I’m not sure you’re feeling so good right now.”

“I’m feeling the best I have in years!” He seethes. Another glass. Kratos is standing now, he grabs his son forcefully by the wrist.

“Boy!”

“Don’t you fucking ‘boy’ me!” Atreus jerks his arm away and flips the table in front of him. The remaining glasses shatter across the room. People are looking now but Atreus doesn’t care. His attention is back on Sindri, his hands in fists at his sides. Blood trickles through his fingers.

“I _fucking_ hate you!”

He grabs a shard from the floor and lunges at the designer. Kratos grabs his son mid jump and the next thing he knows there is glass in his chest. Atreus screams and thrashes in his father’s arms as he is carried from the office and into the lift. 

“είσαι μουνί!!” Kratos shouts, furious.

“Don’t you dare call me a cunt!”

“I did NOT call you a cunt!”

“Yes, you did! You know how I know? I taught myself fucking Greek! While you were busy ignoring me and I was dying! Yeah, that’s right!” His screams are blood curdling and shake the metal walls that encase them. His fists pound at his father’s stomach as they reach the ground floor. 

Kratos drags Atreus through the lobby and pulls the glass from his chest, discarding it behind them. They exit through rotating doors and Kratos lowers himself to his son’s height. He holds his shoulders tightly, fingers pressing deep into his skin.

“You will listen to me and not speak a word.’ Kratos’ voice is low, and laced with venom. “Your behaviour _disgusts_ me. You are too quick to temper, rash, insubordinate and out of control! I do not know who you think you are becoming but this is _not_ my son.” Blood drips down Kratos’ front but he doesn’t seem to notice. “What you did up there was inexcusable. My only relief is that your mother isn’t here to see you now. I thought we had raised you better than this.”

Kratos rises, towering over his child. He waves a taxi over and they slide in, the tension is thick and suffocating.

“This discussion is far from over.”

 _Atreus is right._

Although Kratos can truly say he’s made an effort, he cannot deny the truth.

_We are strangers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: sketch for this chapter is here! Enjoy :D http://captain-dishwasher.tumblr.com/post/175912400402/of-scars-and-wooden-animals-chapter-13
> 
> Sorry for the wait! I have had the busiest two weeks! I interviewed with my dream animation school and they accepted me in the spot! I also got a new job and will be starting next month. It’s all happening! :’)
> 
> Okay I have said it once and I will say it again. I actually frickin loved asshole!atreus!! There, I said it! :P 
> 
> Another chapter I had planned before I started writing. I just hope I didn’t mess it up! I’m gonna read it properly when I finish work and maybe tweak some of the dialogue, but I’m pretty happy overall.
> 
> Poor Sindri, there was no avoiding it though. :P
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	14. Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atreus makes amends.

Atreus stirs.

His head pounds, his throat is raw.

Pushing himself up against his headboard, he absorbs his surroundings. The morning light filters through his drawn blinds, dipping his room in a subtle glow. On his desk, his water bottle has been refilled. On his door, hanging below his bow and quiver is his suit, freshly ironed. Atreus rubs his face and shuffles out from beneath the covers.

_It’s all your fault, you know._

Nausea. The sensation greets him in a flurry of unwelcome memories. The tiles are cool on his feet as he groggily crosses the hall to his bathroom.

_This man and I are strangers!_

He sits in front of the bowl, legs fitting around the base as perfectly as they always have. He was passed this, he thought. He shouldn’t have to hug the toilet like a chemo patient. Chunks exit him in a wave of regret. 

He reaches for the tissue box, but his fingers brush against something else. Something silky. Something firm. Father’s boxer shorts loom in his peripheral vision and he winces, his eyes scrunching tight.

Climbing to his feet, Atreus averts his father’s gaze and flushes away his sickness. He pads into the hall and down the stairs, Kratos following closely behind.

They sit at the breakfast bar. Father pours them both a glass of water and pops a few headache tablets out of their foil casing. They down their pills in unison.

Elbows on the bench, Father rubs at his creased forehead. His jaw is clenched below his beard. Atreus can see that his entire body shakes, and his knuckles are white.

Closing his eyes, Kratos takes a deep breath in. He holds it, and upon release, he calms himself, allowing his inevitable fury to subside.

“Explain yourself.”

Atreus lowers his head in pitiful retreat.

“I’m really not sure I can,” His voice is meek and raspy. His screams from the night prior ricochet between his ears and he swallows thickly, the moisture bringing little relief to the burns in his throat. He fiddles with his glass and attempts to fill his father’s silence.

“Where do I start? I’ve always hated that you were never around. I felt like I wasn’t worthy of your time. I was _really hurt_ when you admitted that you used work as a distraction from me. I didn’t want to think about it because I’d been sad for so long. So instead, I became angry.”

His feet hook around the legs of the bar stool beneath him. He absentmindedly strokes the fresh scabs on his palm, and then the insides of his thighs.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to not be able to even walk on your own for so long, but then suddenly you can lift your weight at gym?? Let’s face it, physically, I _was_ weak. But now I’m not and I feel good about it. Really good. I don’t think I’ve ever known what it was like to be confident.” His pyjama shorts bunch up between his fingers. “I don’t want to blame the alcohol, but I got carried away. I guess confidence and anger just don’t mix. I’m really sorry.”

He waits. He has heard not even a breath from his father and frankly, he is terrified.

There are hands on his shoulders where he was held so roughly only hours before and he flinches at the contact. He is lifted onto Father’s lap and as their chests press together, Atreus stiffens. Solemn features burry into the crook of his neck and after a sorry attempt at fighting it, he lets his body mould to the touch. 

They hold each other.

Muscular arms around a narrow waist. Slender arms around muscular shoulders.

“I am sorry, too.” Kratos mumbles, his words vibrate under Atreus’ jaw. “Will you forgive me?”

Atreus nudges his cheek into father’s chest, lips grazing at his skin.

“Only if you forgive me first.”

Kratos chuckles softly and his son’s legs tighten around his waist.

“You were not yourself. But I stand by my words; your behavior has been dispicable and I am tremendously disappointed in you. I do forgive you, but do not think for a moment that I will not take matters into my own hands if that attitude of yours makes a reappearance.”

Atreus, however relieved, feels the colour drain from his face. He had messed up, and he promises himself that this is the last time he lets his anger gets the better of him.

 

They find themselves next to each other in the back seat, Atreus’ feet kicked up on his father’s knees. The boy had insisted that they make this trip, so Kratos, too hungover to drive, had called them a taxi. Atreus drowsily plays with the small button on the door and his window buzzes up and down. Kratos softly pulls his son’s hand away.

“So. You taught yourself Greek?”

“ _Eísai mouni_.”

“Eίσαι μουνί.” Kratos corrects his son, before he catches himself. “But you must never use such words again. In Greek or in Icelandic. Am I clear?”

“That’s okay, I know other languages.”

They pull over at the front of the building. Kratos pays the driver and they hop out. 

“You are sure about this?”

“I dunno... It feels wrong to leave it any later, though.”

Kratos takes his son’s hand and they walk through the rotating doors of Huldra Incorporated.

 

The elevator opens and the pair step out. There are plastic cups and streamers everywhere. Brok is in front of them, lying face down on the tiles in a pool of his own saliva. He lifts his head for a moment before returning his cheek to his puddle. “You quit for one day and you’re already crawling back? Well, we don’t want ya.”

Kratos grunts. 

Brok spots Atreus behind his father and calls out as they head for Sindri’s office. “You gotta have a big sack to be comin’ back here, kid!”

Kratos holds his son close as they enter.

“Oh. Hello.” Sindri says suspiciously. Kratos nudges Atreus towards the desk.

“Hi, Sindri.” Every muscle in his little body tightens. He takes a nervous step forward. “I lost control, last night.” He glances back at his father. “I was rash, insubordinate, and my behaviour was inexcusable. I don’t expect your forgiveness but please don’t let my actions change the way you think of my father. He didn’t raise me to be like that, I did that all on my own.” 

Sindri rises from his armchair and steps around to the front of his desk. He takes a seat on the edge and shrugs.

“It’s alright, little man. You were really sick for a long time. You’re just getting to know yourself again and I think you deserve that. But, you did terrify me, and I don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened last night. Nonetheless, you are forgiven. It’s what Faye would have wanted.” He gives Atreus a pat on the shoulder. “I believe I owe you an apology, also. I didn’t mean to keep your father from you. It didn’t occur to me that you might have been hurting from his absence.” As he speaks, he lathers his hands with sanitiser.

Kratos interjects. “Do not take the blame for actions that were not your own, Sindri. Faye worked for you too, yet she was more present than I.” He picks his son up by the pits. “However, I believe that we have made the necessary corrections. Is that right, boy?”

“Yeah,” Atreus says sheepishly, letting himself dangle. “That’s right.” 

Brok’s sudden thumping on the glass startles all three of them.

“If yer all done kissing each other’s buttholes, I was gonna check out the falls at Alfheim National Park, if yous wanted to join.” He calls through.

“He promised he was going to help me clean today.” Sindri mutters. “Aw, what the heck, I’m in.”

“I’m in! Father?” Atreus looks up at Kratos with big pleading eyes.

Kratos groans. He has a headache, is severely dehydrated and has not had nearly enough sleep to consider hanging out with his exhausting ex-bosses, but he looks at his son’s hopeful face and suddenly none of that matters.

“What kind of father would I be if I said no? I’m in.” 

 

Atreus stands in private, waiting. He jiggles from foot to foot, trying to focus on the sound of the rushing water but still, nothing comes.

When admiring the waterfalls from the lookout just wasn’t enough, Atreus had suggested that they climb over the railing and down the rocky cliff face to get a better look. Their hour of hiking through the woods meant damp clothes and flushed skin, and the adults had agreed that the tranquil water below was just all too inviting.

Atreus ambles out from behind a tree, adjusting his board shorts.

“What took ya so fuckin’ long?” Brok quips, his blue head poking out from the water. “Didya only just discover your cock?” 

Atreus goes red and Kratos grabs him from behind, lifting him, and before he knows it he is back below the rippling surface.

He gasps and latches onto a protruding rock, shaking droplets from his hair. “Yeah!” He pipes back. “It has taken me my whole life but I finally discovered what was down there!”

Kratos dives in after his son, making a surprisingly minimal disturbance to the water.

“Do not feed the troll, boy.”

“Wow, Father, I know I’m a boy, we _just_ established this. You don’t need to remind me.” He splashes Kratos playfully and is caught off guard when a mighty wave washes him under. He splutters. “I deserved that.”

Kratos laughs and subtly gestures to the small man who is contently reading a magazine on the rocky bank. Atreus nods and holds his breath, slipping back underneath.

“Sindri, do you not care to join us?” Kratos calls out.

“Oh, no, I don’t swim in non-chlorinated water. Too many beasties.”

Atreus takes his que and bursts out from the shallows, splashing the designer with his worst nightmare. Kratos bellows and Brok is in a side splitting fit as Sindri jumps up, absolutely alarmed.

“I can only forgive you so many times, young man.” He says, only half joking as he takes himself to higher, dryer ground.

Kratos pretends to be shocked. “Control yourself, boy!” 

His father’s jesting words are an abrupt reminder to Atreus, and his giggles come to a halt. He crouches so that only his eyes and nose are peaking out the water. He shies away as his concerned father wades towards him. Through the adhesive on Father’s chest, Atreus can see that the wound he had left has reopened, red moisture soaking into the damp cotton.

“I hurt you.” 

Kratos frowns. He reaches into the water and lifts his son, placing him onto the mossy surface next to them so that their eyes are level. Atreus hunches over, ashamed.

“You did. It is not deep, however, and I am fine. You have apologised for your actions.”

“But what if it _was_ deep? I could have seriously injured you!” Atreus sniffs.

“Do not concern yourself with what could have happened.” Kratos runs a thumb below his son’s collar bone, stopping at the small scar left behind by his port-a-cath. 

“Look. We match.” 

Atreus isn’t quite at ease with his father’s willingness to forgive and forget, but at the very least, his optimism is encouraging.

 

The sun has vanished behind the thick brambles of Alfheim National Park and after much convincing on Atreus’ behalf, the brothers have agreed to come over for one of Kratos’ famous home cooked dinners. On the way to the house, they make a quick detour to pick up some groceries. 

Atreus sits on the front of the trolley, feet kicking gleefully. Mother always used to let him hitch a ride, much to Father’s usual dissatisfaction. This evening, however, Kratos seems to be in a good mood, despite the recent happenings, and has yet to protest. 

“Yogurt!” Atreus chirps.

“Check.”

“Capsicum and tomatoes?”

“Check and check.”

“Lamb?”

“Yes.”

“... Skewers?”

The trolley takes a purposefully sharp left turn and Atreus grips the sides with all his might. Father laughs. Atreus pouts.

“We’ve got everything else at home, right?”

“Right.” Kratos grabs a packet of bamboo skewers from the shelf and they head to the check out.

“Is it okay if I have a quick look in another shop before we go?”

“Only if you are quick. Remember that the brothers wait for us outside.”

Atreus hops off the trolley and sprints into the ocean of shoppers. He knows that he won’t be long.

 

The dough sizzles as it hits the pan and the warming smell of Kratos’ signature pita bread wafts through the house. Atreus puts his Greek to use, decoding his father’s messily hand written recipe as he prepares the tzatziki sauce. He is stuck on a particularly difficult word when the door bell rings. 

“I’ve got it!”

Quickly rinsing his hands, Atreus shakes them them dry as he runs down the hall. He opens the door.

“Mimir!”

“Well, hello Little Brother! I got your message, your ‘da making a mess in the kitchen again, is he?”

“Yeah, come on in! We’re making souvlaki, Father’s recipe from home. You’ll love it!” Atreus stands aside as the older man enters, and closes the door behind him. “Oh, Mimir?”

“Yes lad?”

“I’ve got something for you,” He reaches into his backpack from where it hangs by the door. He pullls out a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt, the one that Mimir was looking at the previous day. “I was a brat. I wanted to make it up to you.”

Mimir’s eyes light up and are practically glowing as he takes the shirt, slipping his arms through the holes. “Aw, thank you, lad! You weren’t so bad.” He assures, doing up the buttons. Atreus laughs nervously, realising that Mimir doesn’t know the extent of his behaviour. “Look! A perfect fit!” 

Atreus leads Mimir into the lounge room where the Huldra Brothers are watching a movie and slips back into the kitchen to help with the rest of the meal.

Soon enough, the five of them are seated around the kitchen table, plates empty and bellies full. The meat was juicy and the bread had the just the right amount of crunch. Kratos had even gone out of his way to prepare a Greek styled salad for Sindri. 

Atreus looks around him. Everyone is happy and sound of laughter and playful bickering warms him from top to toes. The house hasn’t felt alive like this since Mother, and Atreus thinks he can feel the gaping hole in his heart begin to shrink.

 

It is late. The brothers have long since left and Mimir snores peacefully on the couch. Kratos scrubs the dishes and Atreus, all dressed and ready for bed, dries and puts them away. They wash in silence until Kratos makes a small, uncertain sound.

“What was that?” The boy asks, not sure if his father had said something. Kratos remains quiet for a few more dishes before speaking up.

“Last night,” He begins, and Atreus already doesn’t like where this is going. “You said to Sindri that we were strangers. Do you believe this to be true?” Kratos holds the bench firmly, anxiously.

Atreus puts away the last few plates and closes the cupboard door. He lifts himself onto the counter top as Kratos pulls the plug, waiting for the water to drain before he speaks.

“I do.” He confesses. “It’s just taking me a while to get used to having you around. The most I’ve ever seen of you was when I was sick, but even then it was mostly Mother. But it hasn’t been so bad recently and today was nice. I know you’re trying, and I’m trying too.” He yawns, eyes heavy, and reaches out for his father. Kratos dries his hands and lifts his son, carrying him upstairs to his bedroom. 

“Do you think it’s enough?” Atreus peeps, snuggled beneath his blankets. “Do you think it’s possible for us to ever be a family again?”

Kratos leans forward. He hesitates, but he brings his lips to his son’s forehead, kissing him firmly.

“You are my family, Atreus. Always have been. Always will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first time I’ve ever had writers block with this fic was with this chapter! I guess I should be lucky that I got this far?
> 
> Anyway, only a few chapters to go!! Thank you so much if you’ve made it this far, and see you soon for the last few parts! :)
> 
> Here is a link to my sketch for this chapter! :) http://captain-dishwasher.tumblr.com/post/176085970792/of-scars-and-wooden-animals-chapter-14


	15. Valhalla

The atmosphere has opened up in the form of several luminous bolts and the night sky glows as if the sun had never set. Thunder ripples through Atreus’ body and the water pouring down the windows is so thick that the car might as well have been submerged.

Kratos parks, reaching into the back seat for an umbrella and Atreus finishes tying his shoelaces.

“Ready?”

Atreus gives his father a nod. Kratos opens the door cautiously, poking the umbrella through the crack and opening it above him. He steps out and jogs to the other side of the car, where Atreus is already sliding out. Atreus sticks close to Father’s side as they cross the carpark to the covered entrance of their new gym, but as they are nearing, Atreus slips behind.

“Boy,” Kratos spins around.

Atreus stands, face to the sky, palms out infront of him.

“What are you doing, boy?”

Atreus lets the water ingest him, trickling down his wrists, his neck, his shoulders, soaking his clothes and every scar on his little body.

It is the first time it has rained this heavily since his recovery and he misses how the pounding water feels on his skin. Mother used to play in the puddles with him, when he was younger, and he hopes that these memories will never leave him. He would do anything to be with her again.

He is snapped out of his watery trance as Father holds the umbrella over him.

“Come.”

Atreus realises how cold he is and he presses himself under Father’s arm. The goosebumps on his skin don’t stop him from jumping in every puddle they cross, however, and Kratos is relieved to finally get his child inside.

After sitting under the hand dryer in the restroom while Kratos wipes him down with paper towels, they are ready to begin their workout. Since resigning, Kratos had forfeited his keys to Huldra Incorporated and with them, their access to the company gym. Their new gym isn’t as big or as fancy, but Atreus doesn’t mind as long as they get to continue their regular father and son workouts.

He grips onto the bars over his head, pulling himself up as a test.

Since he started working out, Atreus had progressed from assisted to unassisted pull ups, and even though Father tells him not to strain himself, he wants a challenge.

“I think I can go heavier.”

He lowers himself as Kratos adjusts the small weighted vest strapped to his body. Atreus pulls himself up again.

“Yep, that’s better, thanks.”

Kratos starts the timer and Atreus begins his weighted pull ups. Forty seconds on, 10 seconds off. He is on his third set when he slips and Kratos catches him quickly.

“Too heavy?” He places his son upright on the ground beneath the metal frame.

“No, I just lost my grip. Can you please lift me up again?”

Atreus wipes his palms on his shorts as he is hoisted. His hands and feet are a little numb and he makes a note not to play in the rain before heading into air conditioning again.

He grips extra hard this time, and completes his sets.

 

Kratos wipes his shoes on the doormat on his way in and drops his keys on the shelf next to Faye’s urn, stroking it tenderly as he passes. Atreus slips off his shoes and socks, soaked through, and gives the urn a quick kiss before heading up to his bathroom.

Kratos is quick to shower and is now chopping up some broccoli and sweet potato, drizzling them with a little oil and his signature seasoning before placing them in the oven. He pulls a tray of peri peri marinated chicken from the fridge and empties it onto the frying pan.

Kratos has finished cooking when he realises that Atreus is still upstairs, and heads up to check on him.

He knocks on the bathroom door.

“I’m peeing!”

“Be quick. Your dinner is waiting.”

Atreus is squeaky clean and in his pyjamas when he joins his father on the couch. He picks up his plate from the coffee table in front of him.

“Mm, this smells so good! Thanks!”

Kratos throws on some Netflix and they watch and eat in peace. Atreus is finishing off his plate when he pipes up.

“Mother would have burnt this,” He lets out a soft laugh.

“Your mother would have burnt water.”

Kratos shuffles closer to his son. Atreus lifts his legs over his lap and leans into his side.

“Do you think I’m ready, Father?” Atreus asks shyly, almost afraid to be heard.

“Ready?”

“You know...” Kratos rests an arm around his son, stroking his hip. “To take her to the tower.”

Kratos is quiet for a moment.

“I do, son. I just don’t know that I am.”

Atreus frowns. He wraps his arms around his father’s neck and pulls himself up. His father’s face is sombre, and eyes are shiny as he places a kiss on his bearded cheek. Kratos tugs his son close, both arms around him, burrowing his face into a small shoulder. Atreus feels his father’s chest tremor against him, only slightly at first, but then his whole, colossal body begins to shake.

Father is sobbing, and soon Atreus is sobbing too.

They fall asleep like this, holding each other, faces wet, missing her.

 

Morning comes and Atreus is dressed and ready for their big day. Father is still asleep when Atreus lets Mimir in, and they make themselves comfortable on the spots of couch that aren’t taken up by Kratos’ massive being.

Kratos wakes to scales slithering across his chest, and opens his eyes to a tongue flickering only centimetres away. His eyes widen and he lets out a startled gasp.

Atreus giggles and climbs onto his father’s chest, joining Jörmun.

“Put him away,” Kratos groans, giving his son’s leg a pat.

“Your fault for sleeping in! We were bored.” Atreus gathers his friend and places him back in his enclosure.

Kratos quickly gets ready and the three hop in the car, off to pick up Brok and Sindri. Atreus is singing loudly and terribly to whatever nonsense is playing on the radio, and Kratos can’t help but smile at his son’s enthusiasm.

“You are feeling good. Not sore from your workout?”

“I’m feeling extra good! But I am also extra sore. My arms and shoulders a bit, and my lower back especially.”

They pull over at Brok and Sindri’s house and the brothers hop into the back seat, one on each side of Mimir.

“I did warn you about those extra weights. You also did not warm up before getting started, which I had advised you to do. You also did not warm down.” Kratos pauses. “Hm, when did you work out your lower back?”

“Ah brother, give the lad a break. He’s just working hard to be ripped like his ‘da!” Mimir chuckles.

“Nah Mimir! Father’s working hard to be ripped like me!”

The rest of the drive Atreus spends enjoying the gushing wind through his hair and shouting incorrect lyrics to the cars that they pass, Kratos humming along beside him.

 

Kratos holds Atreus by his backpack as the boy pulls ahead, careful not to lose him in the crowds. Brok, Sindri and Mimir follow closely behind as they pass through the gates of Valhalla, the entertainment district’s amusement park.

Souvenir shops of every shape, size and colour line the Main Street ahead of them, and actors in larger than life super hero costumes waltz about, taking photos with impatient children. Rollercoasters tower over the buildings in every direction and smaller fairground rides and food carts litter the entrance.

“Was all of this your work, too, brother?”

Kratos smiles.

“The buildings here are mostly Faye’s design, too whimsical for my taste. I only made sure that her ideas were structurally adequate.” Kratos remembers fondly how much Faye had wanted to move from interiors to exteriors to impress him, and how terrible her designs had initially been. He remembers the small changes he had made in her work and how many hours they had spent arguing over them. He remembers how quickly they had made up after. He remembers-

“What about all the rides??” Atreus tugs harder in a fit of excitement, the straps of his backpack digging into his shoulders.

“Atreus, I am an architect, not an engineer.”

They are lead firstly to the bumper cars. Mimir insists on sitting out on the rides, holding onto their belongings as the rest of them hop on. Atreus and Kratos cram themselves into one car, and Brok and Sindri, after Sindri has sterilised his seat, hop into another.

Kratos dominates, crashing into the Huldra Brothers multiple times, Atreus squeals all the while and Sindri asks to get out early. Every bump sends a wave of shock and excitement bubbling up from Atreus’ chest, and he and his father line up for a second ride.

They head to the haunted house next; a small, indoor roller coaster with flashing lights and animatronic monsters leaping out at every turn. Atreus asks Kratos if they can purchase the photo taken, since Sindri is making such a funny face. Kratos agrees, much to Sindri’s discontent, and Brok laughs about it for the next hour.

Atreus pulls over for a quick bathroom break before the group split up in search of food.

“Looky here! That fuckin’ burger is the size of your whole damn body! Ya gonna eat all that?” Brok is in desbelief as Atreus reappears with an absolute mountain of grease and calories, and Sindri gags as the boy devours it.

“I guess not being able to eat properly for two years just gave me a massive appetite!” Atreus puffs out his chest and wipes his hands on a bunch of napkins, making a playful face at Sindri.

“Well I am certainly not sitting behind you on the next ride!” Sindri shudders as the words leave his mouth, skin crawling at the idea of chunks flying in his face. He turns to the boy’s father. “How can you let him eat such garbage?”

Kratos chuckles and lifts Atreus onto his shoulders. “My son defied death. He can eat whatever he wants.” Atreus gives his father’s neck a soft squeeze with his thighs and pats the top of his shaved head.

The group collect their belongings and make their way to the next attraction; Atreus’ first big roller coaster. The last time he had been well enough to visit a theme park, he had been too small to enjoy the larger rides. He is proud to have grown a few inches since his recovery, and is very keen to make the most of his new height. Atreus lets out a yip of joy from his father’s shoulders as they navigate the crowds, his small frame filled to the brim with euphoria. Mimir collects their bags when they get there and makes himself comfortable.

The seats are suspended from the tracks above them and Atreus kicks his feet anxiously as the lap bar is lowered over him. Sindri pulls a fresh wetwipe from his pocket and gives his seat a once over, making a point of sitting in front of Atreus. Kratos buckles himself in next to the boy and notices his small knuckles, white on his shoulder straps.

“Scared?” He asks, equally sympathetic and mocking. Atreus peaks out from the large seat that encases him and grins at his father.

“Excited.”

A staff member does a round to confirm that everybody is correctly strapped in, and the cart begins to move. Atreus feels his heart beating in his throat as they chug up the incline and is quickly overwhelmed by adrenalin as they begin rolling down. The spead doubles with every passing second and Atreus screams himself hoarse. He is a mess of speed and spins, and his feet hit the sky as they are tossed into a series of loops.

They reach the end of the track and the ride comes to a jolting halt, and Atreus laughs at the sudden impact.

“Oh man!” The attendant undoes their straps and he pushes himself out of his seat. He dizzily stumbles forward and has to catch himself on Sindri’s chair in front of him. “I can’t feel my feet!”

Kratos chuckles as he puts a hand on his son’s back as he steadies himself. Atreus gives his arms a quick shake and flashes his father a toothy grin.

They wind their way through the park from ride to ride, conquering each of them with ease. The last on their list is the terrifying Tower of Terror, a 120 metre tall tower that looms over the rest of the park. They are on their way when Atreus has to go to the bathroom, and the group wait for him outside.

They had been entertaining themselves with a few basic fair games when Kratos decides that they have been waiting long enough. He flicks his son a text message.

 

 

Atreus is shoving his phone back in his pocket when he finally dawdles out.

“I am NOT scared!” He pouts.

“Are you sure? There are plenty of little kiddy rides to choose from.”

“Well have fun trying to squeeze yourself into them ‘cause I’m not interested!”

Kratos ruffles Atreus’ hair and they pass their belongings to Mimir. They are heading for the ride when Atreus realises that the brothers aren’t following them. He shoots them a questioning glance, arms flinging up.

“Oh I think we’ve reached our limit today.” Sindri confesses. Brok is digging into a hotdog and mumbles in agreement.

Atreus looks to Mimir, who shakes his head furiously. The boy waves him off and runs to catch up with his father, who is holding his hand out for a fist bump.

“You’re both cracked!” Mimir calls after them.

 

It is a long line, but it moves quickly. There is a boy throwing up in the garden a few metres from them, and Atreus is glad it it isn’t him for once. He sits on the railing as they wait, beaming, his father’s hand resting proudly on his shoulder.

“You have come a long way.”

“Thanks,” He leans his face into his father’s hand, a scarred cheek pressed to pale knuckles. “Do you think I could go back to school soon?”

“If you believe you are ready, I trust your judgement.”

“You’ll be so bored without me! What will you do all day?”

“I will be fine.” A pause. “I have started designing treehouses as a hobby.”

Atreus shrieks. “Tree houses?! Can we have one?”

“It is a possibility.”

Atreus shuffles along his perch, they are nearing front of the line.

“On school holidays, can we go camping? Mother used to take me.”

“Of course.”

“Can we bring Mimir?”

“No.”

The staff member holds a height bar next to Atreus who is standing as straight as he possibly can. He pumps a fist into the air when they are waved through and practically flings himself at his allocated seat.

As they are strapped in, Atreus is greeted unkindly by a familiar sensation.

They begin to rise and the crowds that had so easily swallowed him adopt the appearance of tiny thymus lymphocyte cells, dividing beneath his dangling feet. They shrink and shrink and slowly, gradually, finally, they are gone from sight. They reach the top.

Above the noise, above the chaos, the screaming and the vomiting.

Atreus closes his eyes.

 

He is peaceful.

 

And then he is plummeting.

Towards the noise, the chaos, the screaming, the vomiting. It engulfs him.

The other people in his row yell with glee, but Atreus does not.

The ride slows as they reach the bottom, Kratos in a fit of laughter. He looks to his son and almost doesn’t recognise him under a mask of absolutely no expression.

“Are you alright, boy?” Father asks as their buckles are undone.

Atreus smiles reassuringly.

“That feeling up the top? I’m never going to forget that for as long as I live.”

 

Brok, Sindri and Mimir greet them at the exit in a jumble of excited exclamations and smartass remarks.

“The stunt show starts in 30 minutes, what say we pick up some snacks and get us some decent seats?” Mimir suggests as they head back up Main Street.

“That sounds like a plan! Do you think we have time to play another game, first?” Asks Sindri, gaging a little as they push their way through the masses.

“Only if Beef Cakes here doesn’t cheat again!” Brok grumbles.

“I did not cheat! It was a game of skill and accuracy, and I happen to have both.” Brok, Sindri and Mimir groan in unison.

“Bollocks, Brother! Respectfully, bollocks.”

Kratos reaches for Atreus’ hand as they approach another wall of people, but his grasp is met by thin air.

“Boy,” Kratos spins around, there is no sign of him.

He is tapping into his phone’s contacts, ready to ask Atreus where the hell he has wondered off to when he hears it.

A long, anguished cry, reaching him deep from within the sea of bodies.

“Atreus?”

Kratos stumbles, eyes darting in mad persuit of his child.

Another cry, more pained than the last. Heads in every direction turn towards the disturbing sound of his child’s shrieks. Heart pounding violently in his chest, Kratos spots a cluster of adults, gathering into a tight cocoon a few dozen metres away.

“ _Atreus_!” The name claws out from the depths of his chest, legs pumping as desperation carries him to the source of the cries.

“Get out of my way!” He splutters as he brutally plows through, caring not for the people who stand between himself and his child. “He is my _son_!”

Rupturing the barrier and in a typhoon of terror, he spots him.

Knees on the floor, head in his hands, Atreus screams blindly. His face drained from shock and a trail of blood dripping from his nose. There is vomit on the ground in front of him.

Kratos crouches, large trembling hands hovering over small trembling shoulders, afraid to make contact.

“I am here, son,”

Atreus reaches for his father, his arm wobbling, unguided in the space between them and Kratos takes the tiny hand in his own. It is cold.

“Atreus, where are you hurting? Can you stand?” He speaks as clearly and calmly as the lump in his throat will allow.

Atreus moves a quaking hand to his lower back before falling into his father’s lap. His breath abandons him through ragged sobs and he grasps his chest, as if the air he so desperately draws in is burning him from the inside.

“ _Somebody call an ambulance_!” Kratos' voice breaks as he begs to no one and everyone. He repeats these words until he no longer knows what they mean.

“Father,” Atreus’ cries simmer into exhausted weeps and his eyes begin to close. Familiar voices shout around him and he is unsure if the words are making it to his mouth when he asks, “Can you tell me a story?”

Tears fall into auburn hair as Kratos whispers a tale of a regretful father, and Atreus goes limp in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a while to update again.  
> This chapter was especially hard to write as there's someone in my life who has recently relapsed, and it's impossible to put in writing how it feels to experience that first hand. I hope I was able to convey those feelings somewhat accurately.
> 
> (Did anyone catch one of the symptoms last chapter and all throughout this one? Not that we actually know what they are symptoms of yet :P)
> 
> Anyway two more chapters to go, thank you so much for sticking with me through this :)
> 
> Sketch for this chapter: http://feedittothefish.tumblr.com/post/176426785002/of-scars-and-wooden-animals-chapter-15-valhalla#notes


	16. Diagnosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mentions of suicide, miscarriage and self harm in this chapter*

Bottles and syringes litter the carpeted hotel floor and his toes scrunch amongst the mess.

Hungover from the many litres, and traces of a synthetic euphoria from a recent injection still within his system, Kratos sighs heavily. He pushes himself off the unmade bed, the distance between himself and the balcony closing as he staggers through the open door. The air is crisp and tickles his scarred skin.

The cars and people many floors beneath him look as tiny as the figures from his scale models.

Years have passed since his world had ended and no amount of sex, drugs or alcohol could put an end to his eternal emptiness. Something sinister has been churning beneath his skin, deep within his bones; a darkness he has become well acquainted with.

The pavement down below calls for him and he climbs onto the railing.

—

Agony.

It creeps through his body like a weed, strangling him as his consciousness returns in hazy bursts.

It’s in his head, his shoulders, his arms, his legs; the unnatural, but well known feeling of his own blood corrupting him.

There are voices, familiar. People crowd around, blocking the light from the nearby window. His vision is too clouded to determine who they are.

Cool knuckles brush over his forehead and Atreus nuzzles into the soothing touch as best as he can.

A sharp, alien pain rattles through his every inch at the slight movement, settling below his ribs and above his hips. The bodies around him begin to fuss as he cries out.

The angle of his bed is electronically adjusted and a green whistle is pressed to his lips as he is sat up. He inhales the anesthetic madly, the pain becoming manageable at best.

The walls around him are mostly bare, save for a ticking clock and a bundle of balloons in the far corner. The room smells of rubber gloves and hand sanitiser, the telltale scent drifting against him as his eyes adjust, and he makes sense of his surroundings. Brok, Sindri and Mimir are here, and Father sits at his side in a shaking heap.

No one says anything, but no one needs to.

He just _knows._

Despite the pain in his back, despite the intense headache and overwhelming queasiness, despite the t-cells crowding his tiny frame, filling him from top to bottom, he feels nothing. He feels empty. He spots a tempting pair of scissors on the table next to his bed and the scars across his body begin to tingle.

—

On the floor, in the bathroom, Faye wails. She cannot feel her fingernails digging into her arms as she holds herself. She cannot feel the hardness the blood covered floor beneath her bare, trembling legs. She can only feel the loss of her baby, flushed down the drain, a piece of herself with it. She can only feel her heart as it rips in two inside of her.

Her husband shouts outside, but she cannot hear him above her cries. The door is ripped off its hinges and his heart stops when he sees her, the mess around her. She looks up at him, her face red and wet. Her bloodshot eyes lock onto his and all becomes clear to him when she shakes her head.

—

Father’s grip tightens around tiny, swollen fingers as the door clicks open, Doctor Hati entering, papers in hand. Atreus is expressionless as she sits beside them; an effigy in comparison to his broken father.

“Good morning, Atreus.” Hati speaks with low, calm tones. “How is your pain, from one to ten?”

“Eight.” The single breath exhausts him.

“You had a seizure on your way to the hospital yesterday, you’re doing well considering.” She taps once on his foot and again on the back of his hand. “Can you feel this?” Atreus shakes his head. “Have you been experiencing irregular and difficult urination?” Atreus nods. “Sore back?” Again, he nods. Hati turns to Kratos.

“Atreus’ kidneys are shutting down. Skoll is organising an ultrasound so we can determine to what extent.” She pulls out the results of the tests performed on Atreus’ barely conscious body the day before and passes them to Kratos. “The leukemic cells that were visually non existent at his most recent check up have multiplied violently. They clog his blood, his bones, they’re in his lymph nodes, his central nervous system, and now, his kidneys.” The doctor’s voice is filled with regret. “They had nowhere else to go.”

Kratos doesn’t even look at the mess of graphs and numbers in front of him, he cannot take his eyes off his child. He strokes his head, his face, his neck. Atreus’ skin is fevered beneath his fingers.  
He thinks back to when his son was at his worst; thin, depressed, covered with bruises. His pale skin dry and cracking. Unable to walk, unable to swallow his own food. Even then, Kratos recalls, Atreus’ organs had remained cancer free. He pushes back a tuft of damp hair.

“What can be done?” He isn’t sure if there is an answer, but regardless, he asks. Atreus wishes Father hadn’t.

“We will begin Intrathecal Chemotherapy immediately to minimise the cells in the fluid around his spine and brain. Other than that... We will do what we can to make sure that he is comfortable.”

_Comfortable._

Atreus’ skin crawls. Two years of cancer and Atreus had yet to hear that word. He had hoped, after how far he’d come, that he would never have to. He pictures his calendar at home, finally clear of the red crosses that had once covered every page. He pictures himself crossing off the days again, counting down to his inevitable death. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

_Comfortable it is, then._

Wincing, he is pushed through the winding halls to where he is to be admitted his first dose of chemotherapy in almost a year. His usual room passes, Hati guiding them to a private ward with a single bed.

Once he is settled into his new location, Atreus instinctively pulls the neck of his hospital gown downwards. He is momentarily confused when he remembers that the port in his chest had long since been removed.

Hati smiles sympathetically.

“I’ll need you to lie on your side for this dosage, Atreus. I will be injecting the fluid directly into your spine.”

Atreus is adjusted onto his hip and elbow. Father guides his knees to his chest, and his hospital gown is unbuttoned behind him. He is stoic as his lower back is sterilised and doesn’t even flinch when he hears the crack of the needle wedging between his vertebrae, Father holding him all the while.

The process is over a lot more quickly than his previous sessions, and once the fluid has been fully administered, Atreus is instructed to lie flat on his back. To help the solution flow within his spinal fluid, Hati had told him before leaving the room.

His chest rises and falls steadily, his hands threaded together on his stomach as the post-cocktail nausea sets in. A familiar scratching fills the space next to him, a sound that had once brought him comfort during his long hours of chemotherapy.

Scratch, scratch, the sound of metal etching into wood.

—

They sit at the breakfast bar, the stool between them, empty. Faye’s forehead is pressed to the cold, stone surface, Kratos’ hand resting delicately on her shoulder.

Her hair is to her chin, now. It has taken a year to grow this much. The choppy pieces that frame her face are not the thick, untamed locks that she used to bare, but they are a sign that she remains cancer free, and Kratos personally loves the shorter style on her.

As she sits up, she pushes a damp strand from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

She forces a smile.

“I’m sorry.”

Kratos grunts. He lifts her by her waist with ease and places her on his lap. He runs a hand through her short, red locks and their foreheads meet. Pressing a tender hand to her empty abdomen, he lifts her lips to his own.

“Do not be.” He whispers. “We will try again.”

—

“Father?”

“Son?”

“No matter what happens, promise me you’ll build me that tree house, got it?”

“I promise. I have a design in mind for our yard already.”

“Can I bring Mimir up?”

“You can bring whoever you want up.” Kratos says warmly, chucking a little.

“Can you promise me something else?” Atreus’ tone grows serious.

“Hm?”

“No matter what happens, promise me you’ll make sure I’m comfortable, alright?”

Kratos wonders why his son has to ask; he had thought this was a given. But he doesn’t question it.

“I promise.”

Doctor Skoll knocks on the door, making himself known before entering, Hati at his side. Atreus bites his lips as the doctors wheel in the ultrasound machinery. Kratos helps his son out of his gown and Atreus’ body stiffens, his teeth clenching.

 

Between his legs, smattered across his thighs, are cuts. Deep and fresh, revealed as the pale blue cloth is lifted.

 

The doctors pay no attention, Hati is busy smothering Atreus’ sides and lower stomach with a cold, clear gel while Skoll readies the machinery.

“Relax your abdomen.”

Atreus presses his legs together tightly, but relaxes his stomach as best as he can. He looks to Father to see if he has noticed, but Kratos’ eyes are glued to the screen. Hati glides the wand over Atreus’ lubricated skin, the images on the display shifting purposefully.

“Hold your breath.” The images pause. “And, release.” The wand moves across his ribs, tickling him, and then passes a few times over his bladder.

The doctors speak in terms that neither the father or son can understand, but their tone they understand just fine. Hati wipes off the gel and Atreus hurriedly pulls his gown back on. It is Skoll who eventually addresses them.

“Kratos, if we could have a word with you, outside.”

The adults stand. Atreus grabs his father’s shirt, the fabric scrunching tightly between his fingers. He swallows. He speaks up with what little volume he can muster, his voice as certain as it is small.

“This is it, isn’t it?”

Kratos crouches next to the bed. He traces the scars on his son’s freckled cheeks and the shapes that are so violently etched into the soft skin tear at Kratos’ chest, because he knows so damn well that he’s the reason they were put there.  
The marks reflecting his tattoo especially are a daily reminder for Kratos to be better, and he knows, that if it comes to it, that he would do anything for his son.

But he can feel deep down that this journey is coming to an end, and he isn’t going to lie. He kisses his son’s knuckles with tears in his eyes.

“It might be.”

 

They stand just outside the room, Kratos’ eyes meeting his son’s through the window, not leaving them once as the doctors speak to him.

“Atreus is in what is called Acute Renal Failure. To put it simply, one of his kidneys has already shut down. The other is on its way. His cancer has devoured them.” Skoll explains, blunt as ever.

Kratos bites his tongue and manages through clenched teeth, “Just tell me how long.”

The doctor hesitates.

“Weeks.”

Kratos’ legs give out from underneath him and he catches himself on the windowsill, the air knocked from his lungs.

Hati hurriedly shifts through her paperwork.

“Kratos, you tested to see it you were a possible bone marrow donor, didn’t you? We could remove the corrupt kidney and the bone marrow could aid the other in recovery. Atreus is in quite good shape from his regular gym visits and has put on a healthy weight. I don’t see the immunosuppressants being an issue at this point.”

Kratos’ breath returns to him when he remembers that he _had_ been tested.

He frantically stumbles back into the room and begins to rummage through his satchel. The results had eventually been crammed into his planner, and although neglected, he had managed to always keep them close. His heart beats in his throat as he reaches for them.

“You’re not,” Comes a shy voice from across the room. Kratos looks to his son, perplexed.

“Excuse me?”

“I saw the envelope in your bathroom when I stole your knife. I opened it.” Atreus squeaks. “You’re not a match.”

Kratos feels the blood drain from his face. Closing his eyes, he lowers the results to the floor. He pushes himself to his feet and crosses the ward, legs heavy, chest sunken. Sliding onto the bed, he pulls his tiny son on top of him.

They are silent, for a while, only the soft puffs of their wet breaths breaking the nothingness in the clinical air. It is Atreus who speaks first.

“I’m not ready to be with her,”

The boy wraps his legs around his father and lets himself go. He sobs madly into a broad shoulder, every shudder sending spikes of pain through the disintegrating areas on either side of him. Kratos attempts composure as his son falls to pieces in his arms.

Hati approaches, the discarded results in hand.

“You wish to take one kidney.” Kratos sounds out, more to himself than the doctor.

“Yes, but only because the bone marrow would have assisted the other in recovery. He could survive with one healthy kidney, but by the time we find a bone marrow match, the one that remains would have already withered. I’m sorry.”

Atreus dribbles blood down his father’s back and Kratos holds his son tightly as he splutters. Their cheeks press together, scars on ink.

“Take both of his kidneys. He will have one of mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure how many of you read the notes on the last chapter but unfortunately the person I was referring to has passed away.
> 
> He was a big God of War fan and loved Atreus, and was super excited to find out that he gets sick a lot, too. It was nice for him to have a character in pop culture that he could relate to. I wanted to take that a step further with this story, and luckily he was able to read the drafts of the last two chapters before he passed.
> 
> I had to take a break from editing just to get myself together but I’m back into it now! Next month (September) is leukaemia and childhood cancer awareness month and it was really important for me to get this story finished by then! I’m glad I’m getting close.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway!
> 
> If you haven’t seen, I uploaded a short fic based between chapters 14 and 15, you’ll find it if you click ‘Next Work’ at the top of the page!
> 
> Please enjoy, and thank you for reading <3


	17. Ashes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mentions of suicide, miscarriage and self harm in this chapter*

Atreus’ hands are cold and still as his father holds them desperately, his thumbs tracing every knuckle, every crease. The lights in the oncology ward are dull, but they are bright enough that Kratos can still make out the blanket of bruises forming over his son’s translucent skin. The boy coughs, blood spraying from his lips, and Kratos wraps his arms around him as delicately as his huge mass will allow. He holds him steadily. The familiar beeping next to them fills the room.

Atreus is trembling, terrified. He holds his father’s face between sweating palms, cords and tubes hanging from his frail wrists.

“I’m not ready,” He has repeated for a bedridden week. “I don’t want to leave you.” Kratos puts a thumb over dry lips, hushing him, but Atreus wiggles free from a firm grasp. “You’ll take care of Jörmun won’t you? And be nice to Mimir, please?”

Doctor Skoll knocks quietly on the wooden door frame, heavy-hearted to be the one to disturb the melancholy father and son.

“It’s time. We need you to return to your own room, Kratos.”

Atreus panics as his father stands, and begins to whimper indomitably. Leaning over his inconsolable son, Kratos presses his lips to his forehead, holding them there as tears trail down his cheeks, pooling where their skin meets between them.

“I love you, Atreus.”

Atreus feels the warmth of his father's breath against his skin and he swallows hard. He can’t remember the last time those words had been spoken to him. More so, he can’t remember the last time he had believed them. He believes them now.

“I love you too.” Pushed out between unsteady breaths, his words are as broken as he feels. But they are honest. “Remember your promise?”

“Yes. Tree house.” Kratos jokes grimly, knowing that this wasn’t the promise his son was referring to. “I will see you soon.”

Atreus isn’t so sure, but he nods, and Father follows the doctor out of the room.

Lead through hall after hall, Kratos thinks he should know his way around the hospital by now, but every visit is a blur of pulsing veins and murky eyes and this week has been no different.

“There is something we would like to clarify,” As they reach the ward, the doctor takes Kratos’ shoulder tightly in a compassionate, yet uncertain hand. “This surgery is no cure. There is no guarantee. It is beyond heartwarming that you are doing this for your son, but you are buying him mere months.”

“I understand. I’ve done the tests, the paperwork, I know the risks. One healthy kidney is better than two that are faulty. My son is in great pain, and I will do whatever it takes to bring him comfort. Atreus deserves nothing less.”

Kratos enters his room and closes the door behind him. He changes into his hospital gown.

—

Swapping positions, Kratos smirks down at her, panting softly. Faye reaches up with one hand and strokes his face, with the other, she strokes herself.

“Are you getting tired, old man?”

He leans in and kisses her savagely, pushing his unclad hips onto hers with no relent. Faye coils her legs with his as she pushes back with enthusiasm, his bottom lip between her teeth.

 

Hours later, Faye sits in the office restroom, pale blue jeans pushed to her knees. They had been trying multiple times a day for months, and it is too much for her to not check regularly. Pulling the small, plastic rod from its wrapper, she places it beneath her. She holds her breath.

One red line,

And sure enough,

Two red lines.

 

Kratos is threading a lead into his mechanical pencil when a pregnancy test is flung onto his drafting table. He has to rub his eyes to make sure that he isn’t seeing double. He rubs and blinks but the results remain. He looks to Faye; she is a vision of vivacity. When the realisation sets in he stands abruptly, his chair falling over behind him, and takes his wife into his arms.

He lifts her from the ground and pushes her up against the wall, trapping her between his solid body and the flat surface behind her. She tightens her legs around his waist as their lips move with passion.

Standing on the other side of the glass barrier, a stack of folders in his arms, Brok rolls his eyes. He had been collecting designs for their housing district and was interested to see what Kratos had finalised. He shakes his head when he reaches his office and has to tell Sindri that he’ll grab their lead architect’s designs later.

—

“You’re going to be quite okay, Brother?” Mimir seeks confirmation as Kratos hands over the keys to his house.

“I will be fine. For me it is only laparoscopic surgery. Atreus is receiving an open nephrectomy and is having a rib removed, it is he you should be concerned about.”

“Aye, I understand you will be fine physically. It is your mental health I have concerns for.”

Kratos lies back in his hospital bed. It had been a while since he had thought of himself, and his mind had become increasingly unsteady. His forearms tingle, neglected.

“I am fine.”

Mimir tosses the keys into the air and catches them, before patting his neighbour on the arm. His hand lingers.

“You can always talk to me, Brother.”

“Do not feed the snake. He has already eaten within the week.” Kratos comments dryly, in a lazy attempt at changing the subject. A sad smile nags his lips as he is rolled out the door.

—

Faye slips under the covers. She tremors subtly but Kratos can feel her quakes a mile away. Flipping over to face her, he pulls her into him, his large body fitting around her like a glove. He grazes his lips over the back of her neck.

“Speak to me.”

Faye opens her mouth but her words are betrayed by violent sobs.

“I,” She gasps. She curls into herself. Her words claw at her throat and she hopes that if she can keep them down that they won’t be true, but she knows what happened.

What happened _again_.

She guides her husband’s hand to her abandoned stomach, and the silent wetness that seeps onto her shoulder tells her that he understands.

—

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is a small, wooden bear, watching over him from the bedside table.

The second is his father, hunched over on a small, plastic seat, elbows on knees, head in hands.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, too?” Atreus peeps, voice breaking. He isn’t even going to try sitting up. Kratos’ eyes dart to his son and he jumps to his feet.

“My surgery was far less complicated than yours. I was released after a day. How do you feel?” He lightly presses the back of his fingers to his son’s forehead. No temperature.

“A bit sore, but not like before.”

Kratos smiles and reaches for his son’s hand. Atreus meets him half way and takes hold of a large finger in his small fist. His grip is tight. Kratos gestures to the bed.

“May I?”

Atreus nods, grinning, and shuffles to the side. Kratos slides in next to the boy and slips an arm around his shoulders.

“You are happy to be awake?”

“Yeah! I wasn’t sure that I was going to make it through the surgery.” He nuzzles his face into Father’s hip. “So, how long do I have now?”

Kratos shuts his eyes. It is chilling how casually Atreus asks this. He feels his son at his side, radiating warmth and promise. He knows this won’t last long.

“Your cancer is vicious,” Atreus has lost count of how many times he has heard this. “But the surgery has bought you a few months. You will be allowed home in another week and we will figure out where we go from there.”

“Months, huh?”

Atreus frowns and hugs his father’s arm.

“That’s better than weeks, at least.”

 

Thin wheels rattle over bitumen. The blanket is itchy on his lap and Atreus tugs at a loose thread as he is rolled carefully through the crowded car park. The sky above them resembles a painting in the way that the sun sets behind luminescent clouds, the display of colour reminding him of one of Mother’s designs.

Kratos lifts his son into the front and buckles him up, before storing the little wheelchair away into the trunk of the car. He hops into the driver's seat and closes his door with a thud. Head hung low, he asks,

“How long?”

Atreus fumbles with his little wooden bear, his thumb rubbing nervously over the precise details of the creature’s curly mane. The animal stands on its hind legs, claws out in front of it. It bares its teeth. It looks fierce, but not scary.

“How long, what?” He stammers.

Kratos reaches over and rubs his hand along the top of his son’s thigh.

“ _How long._ ”

His grip tightens there and it only takes a moment for Atreus to realise what he is asking.

“Oh. You saw them.” He presses his legs together, Father’s fingers wedged between them. “I started the night of Brok and Sindri’s party- in the shower when I was getting ready.”

Kratos emits an anguished groan. He remembers the time his son had taken that night.

“Why?”

“It was out of anger, originally. I had been so mad all day! I was trying to get it all out before the party... We both know how _that_ didn't work." He titters nervously. "But like you, I think I became addicted to the feeling. I liked being in control of the pain I felt, for once.” He puts a hand on top of his father’s. His fingers trail over his wrist, over decades worth of rutted tissue.

“Father?“

“Hm?”

“Have you ever come close to death?”

Kratos gives his son a long, suspicious look, eyebrows furrowing above his nose as he thinks his answer over. Atreus is mature enough for this, he decides. He trusts his son.

“I have. Twice. Both were my own doing. Once was on purpose.”

“On purpose? Was it because things were really tough? Because waking up every day hurt more than the last?”

“Son.”

“Please,”

“Yes. I do not like where this is going, Atreus.”

“How did you do it?”

“I will not tell you that.”

“Did it feel good? Like when you cut yourself?”

“ _Boy._ ”

Atreus yelps and Kratos realises how tightly he is gripping his son. He lets go and puts his hands on the steering wheel instead. The leather splits beneath his fingers.

“I’m scared, okay!” All hesitancy leaves Atreus’ voice as he lets out a collection of sharp, certain shouts. “I’m absolutely terrified of dying a slow and painful death! And I know it’s coming, we both do! I just want to have control.” His tone lowers again as he whispers, “I don’t want to just fade away.”

Kratos stills, his last words to Doctor Skoll before the surgery hitting him like a tonne of bricks.

_I will do whatever it takes to bring him comfort. Atreus deserves nothing less._

And suddenly his promise to his son makes a lot more sense.

—

Faye is not unacquainted with the basin as she heaves up last night’s dinner. Only short years ago did she sit here while her chemotherapy affected her in the way she resented most. More recently, she has hugged the bowl with bouts of morning sickness. Multiple, devastating times, her symptoms have ended not with a child, but with two broken hearts.

For most women, the early signs of pregnancy are a blessing. For Faye, they are a merciless trick designed to build up her hopes, only for them to be so cruelly crushed.

Tap water runs in the sink above her, left on in an attempt to drown out the sound of her sickness while her husband sleeps on the other side of the ensuite door.

He can’t know. Not until she’s sure. She will not drag him into this again.

—

Kratos is in his study, drafting up designs for the highly anticipated tree house when he hears his son’s knuckles against the open door.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He splutters, trying not to yell. “You should not be walking yet.”

Atreus ambles in, hand on the wall for support.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m only hurting from being in bed for so long. My bum is completely numb,” Letting out a soft laugh, Atreus sways, drowsy from his painkillers. He cringes as he is lifted gently onto Father’s lap, and grasps tightly at the long incisions on either side of his small abdomen.

Although they are tightly sewn, Atreus can’t help but worry that the slightest movement could split his new wounds open again. Father had gotten off easy; waking up with only three tiny punctures on his right side and a small gash across his middle. Atreus had never been one to question his doctors, but he wonders why his surgery had to be so much more complicated. The marks from their procedure bring him comfort, however, and he is glad that they have them- a small reminder that a piece of his father will always be with him.

Snuggling up to his chest, Atreus watches intently as Father sketches. The lead glides across the drafting film so effortlessly, lines and corners joining into rendered illustrations like a seamless illusion. They are like this for a while, enjoying the silence. Enjoying each other. Atreus is nodding off when he sleepily asks,

“Will you tell me a story?”

Kratos puts down his pencil. Tapping his fingers on the flat surface before him, he clears his throat.

“There once was a family.” He begins. “A father, mother, and a little girl. The father was a very cold man and thought about no one but himself. He worked very long hours and never saw his family... He had taken them granted.”

Kratos runs a light finger across Atreus’ back, drawing shapes and tickling him softly in the way he had done for his daughter, almost a lifetime ago.

“One day, there was a terrible accident; the father was tired from working too much, and fell asleep behind the wheel. He lost his girls. And with them, he lost himself.” Atreus begins to snore lightly beneath him, but he continues his story.

“He was no longer human, the father. He was an abundance of depression and self abuse. He knew what it was like for every waking day to be an extension only of his painful existence.” Kratos rests his chin on his son’s head, his dark beard tangling with red tufts.

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply in acceptance,

“I know what it’s like, son.”

—

His hands are tight on her shoulders, tight enough to bruise, but the only sensation she is aware of is the arrival of their long awaited child, and the pain is as beautiful as it is intense.

The labor is quick, the premature baby offering very little resistance, and Faye is nauseous when it does not cry.

—

Small pieces of freshly mowed grass blow against him with the gentle breeze, and Atreus brushes them off his abused thighs absentmindedly. He sips at a glass of his father’s homemade lemonade, legs kicked up on his deck chair and a pair of too-big sunglasses perched at the top of his nose. He wiggles his feet happily, enjoying the sun.

Across the lawn, Brok and Sindri bicker; their third argument that day. It reminds Atreus of when his parents would disagree over the most trivial of topics, which was more often than not, and then later make up after combination of immature ignoring and playful pouting. He smiles fondly at the memories.

“Do ya even know what a damn hammer is- no to your left, you fuckin’- your LEFT.” Brok lets out a groan along with some words that Atreus is sure are made up. “Fuckin’ prissy designers.”

Sindri responds by tossing the hammer, not out of spite, but out of disgust of not knowing where the tool had been. Brok shouts out some words that Atreus has certainly heard before as the tool hits his denim clad shin, and the boy spits out his mouthful in amusement.

Up the tree and above the commotion is Kratos, wearing only a pair of charcoal sweatpants that ride low on his hips, sawing away at a branch in silence. He doesn’t bother to call down to the brothers as the wooden mass begins to hurtle towards them, and Atreus is sure that he did this to shut them up.

Brok is the first to notice and tackles his brother out the way and into a muddy puddle. Atreus laughs when Brok’s heroic action only adds to the quarrel, Sindri wiping himself off in disgust and asking innocently where the hammer had gone.

Kratos leaps out of the tree without a sound, the ladder leant against the trunk, unused. He smirks at his son, making his way towards him, and they roll their eyes in unison.

He sits on the edge of the deck chair besides the one his boy is on and leans forward, a smile on his face. His skin is covered with a light layer of sweat, and flecks sawdust adorn his beard.

Atreus pushes his sunnies a little way down the bridge of his nose, peaking over the frame at his father.

“What’s up?” He chirps, and takes another sip. He grins widely as Father ruffles his hair.

Kratos looks to the brothers to confirm that they’re distracted.

“I have made arrangements.” The corners of his lips turn down ever so slightly, and Atreus sits up to face him.

“What do you mean?”

“My promise to you, I intend to keep it.”

Atreus wipes his face with his palms, pressing his fingertips firmly over his brows before dragging them down over his cheeks, scars taut beneath them. Father looks dead serious, and Atreus replicates the expression.

“Oh man. You mean,” He glances at the brothers and whispers, “Assisted suici-“

Kratos hurriedly covers his son’s mouth with a dusty palm, and Atreus turns his head away, spitting.

“You will _not_ call it that.” Kratos says sharply, shock gripping him, before allowing his voice to soften. “Death with dignity, is the correct term.”

He lifts himself from his seat and joins his son on his. Their sides brush together in an awkward silence. Atreus had only ever hinted his intention, and Kratos refuses to ever use that word.

“Our recent conversations have concerned me. Your internet history even more so. I will not allow you to harm yourself more than you already have.”

Atreus screws up his face and pokes out his tongue.

“I’m gonna die anyway.”

“Hence why I have made some calls. Death with dignity will allow you to pass painlessly, when and where you wish.” His words tighten as he tugs them carefully past the lump in his throat. He presses his legs together tightly and his toes dig into the grass beneath them. “Your illness qualifies. I will not allow you to suffer.” Kratos reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small plastic box. Inside, a single pill.

Atreus is lost for words and Father conceals the container as quickly as it had been revealed, returning to his work on the tree house as if he wasn’t wearing the fate of his son on his hip.

—

The couple hold each other as it is explained to them that their baby boy is sick, and will not come home with them for many months. Blood transfusions and injections already riddle their sickly child, and the defeated parents cling to the hope that their son will one day grow up strong and healthy.

Kratos slides his hand into the incubator, the infant’s whole fist is smaller than the tip of his finger.

Born at twenty eight weeks, Atreus is small, and he is weak, but he is alive.

And he is _everything._

—

Twenty eight wooden animals guard Atreus’ bedroom as he crosses off another day from his calendar. His mouth is pressed into a tight line, and he exhales heavily from his nose.

He checks his bed, made. He give the floor a once over, vacuumed. His clothes are neatly hanging in his wardrobe and his books are in alphabetical order on his bookshelf.

He turns to the tiny wooden procession on his windowsill. One by one, he places the creatures carefully into his backpack, removing them from what had been their home for the passed three years. He stops when he reaches the newest addition to his collection and places the small bear from Father into his pocket instead.

Treading carefully down the stairs, he pauses at the bottom. Down the hall and in the living room, the most important people in his life are celebrating his birthday. He closes his eyes and savours the sound of Mimir’s outrageous tales, Ms Freya’s sensible interjections, the endless bickering of Brok and Sindri and the booming laugh of his father.

The rubber soles of his shoes scuff against onyx flooring as he walks into the lounge, hands in pockets. Leaning against Jörmun’s serpent sanctuary, Atreus watches his father proudly as he interacts with their guests. This time last year, Kratos never would have had people over, let alone happily engage in an animated conversation with them. Father’s arms fly up in the air to indicate the size of the fish he had caught on their recent camping trip, and the rest of the party groan and roll their eyes in humorous doubt.

Atreus drops a mouse he had thawed earlier into the glass enclosure and traces a finger down his companion’s glistening body, the snake hissing fondly as he does so.

He meets Father’s eyes from across the room and gives him a very faint, but certain nod.

Fist tightening around his little wooden bear, he slips past their guests and through the back door. He hears the end of Father’s story fading behind him as he crosses their perfectly trimmed lawn to his newly completed tree house.

Despite the pain, despite the intense headache and overwhelming queasiness, despite the t-cells that have consumed him, filling him from top to bottom,

Atreus is happy.

He grasps the railing of the staircase leading to his small abode, and pushes himself up one step at a time. He is glad to be conscious of his last days, he thinks to himself. Thankful to have clear memories to cling onto as he slips away.

He sitting on the floor cross legged, surrounded by his wooden animals when Father enters, hands behind his back.

“Are they gone?” Atreus asks, his focus on the small totems around him.

“We are alone.” Kratos confirms. He sits on the floor next to his son and Atreus rests his head on his best friend’s shoulder.

“Painless, right?”

“Just like falling asleep.”

Atreus coughs, his chest is tight.

“Remember when Mother replaced Sindri’s hand sanitizer with superglue?”

Kratos chuckles deeply.

“I do. I also recall you suggesting it.”

“Yeah. You were so mad.” Kratos scoops his son onto his lap as they laugh, Atreus’ giggles turning to bloodied wheezes. “I’m glad I got sick,” He whispers as Father dabs a tissue to his lips, confusion in his ochre eyes.

“My cancer has been a journey of scars and wooden animals, and without it we wouldn’t have become so close.” Atreus elaborates. “Everything happens for a reason and I’m glad to have had you by my side.” He speaks as clearly as he can, choking on his words just a little. “Promise that you’ll be strong without me? You will carry on?” Tears drop onto his cheeks, but they are not his own.

Kratos shakes above him, teeth clenched, eyes shut tight. “I will, I promise.”

“Mother would be so proud,”

Atreus wipes a tear from the red marking on Father’s cheek. He hooks his arms around his neck and Kratos holds his son against tightly him. Like this, they are frozen in time, their chests together, rising and falling simultaneously. Kratos has his face buried into the crook of his son’s neck when the boy muffles a teary,

“I’m ready to be with her, now.”

Kratos dithers, but eventually moves a hand to his pocket and Atreus reaches into his backpack for his water bottle.

For years, Atreus has downed his pills with ease, but no amount of medication could prepare him for this.

Kratos pops the lid from the acrylic cylinder and the tablet rolls onto his son’s palm.

Shaking fingers close around it, and the small tremors of his fist trail down his arm until his whole body shudders.

Atreus raises the pill to his lips, and with a mouthful of water, he washes it down.

He doesn’t feel any different. After months of research, months of worrying, Atreus breathes a sigh of relief.

Father rocks him gently and he relaxes into his arms, his small body moulding into a desperate touch.

Fingers run through his hair and he rests his head back, twenty eight wooden animals watching over him as his eyes begin to close.

—

Freshly stained bandages coil tightly from his wrists to his elbows and the icy breeze stings his eyes as he looks across Midgard. Hungover from the many litres, and a fine, white powder lingering below his nose, Kratos sighs heavily. The distance between himself and absolute nothingness closes as he nears the edge of Jotunheim Tower, and he reaches into the small, embroidered pouch hanging from his belt.

His family, his world.

Ashes.

He raises a wounded arm before him, allowing a handful to trickle through his fingers as his everything takes to the air.

He wonders how different things would have been if he had brought Atreus here the morning they had picked up Faye’s remains. He wonders if the scars that ultimately littered his tiny body would still have come to be.

Everything happens for a reason, Atreus had said. Although it’s not easy, although a tremendous pain devours him from the inside out, Kratos believes that his son couldn’t have spoken truer words.

The last of the ashes drift over the city, over the project that both mother and son had influenced so greatly, and the grief that Kratos feels is catastrophic as the tiny specs drift from sight.

He inches closer to the edge, and his toes scrunch beneath him as they overhang.

The cars and people many floors beneath him look as tiny as the figures from his scale models.

A familiar sensation grips Kratos by the throat, urging him forward as the pavement down below calls for him, taunting him, tempting him.

 

Kratos does not succumb, however, his final promise to his son drawing him back from the edge.

 

Death will strip him from this world just as it had done with his loved ones,

 

but not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! We made it to the end! 
> 
> I would like to thank Whifflewaffles and Cassievanlauritzen here on AO3 for always leaving the most wonderful comments, you guys have motivated me and supported me in ways you’ll never know!  
> And I want to thank Spartanroses and Grunge-moth from tumblr for always having my back, you gals are the absolute greatest!
> 
> Also special thanks to my personal fangirl Freakyvintagewallpapers/you-were-always-ready-son for kicking my ass whenever I needed it :P
> 
>  
> 
> **Dedicated to my little cousin, who was cursed with the same cancer as Atreus from an early age. I miss you every day buddy.**
> 
>  
> 
> Here’s the sketch for this chapter: http://feedittothefish.tumblr.com/post/177731190567/oh-man-guys-my-modern-gow-fic-of-scars-and-wooden  
>  
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading <3


End file.
